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DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


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ALLIES'   DAY 

From  the  Original  Painting 

By  Childe  Hassam 

"  I  want  the  picture  dedicated  to  the  British  and  French 
nations  conunernuraling  the  coming  together  of  the  three 
peoples  in  the  Fight  for  Democracy." 


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J*M,'r.'^>»  V      "»UJ  J  1  Vt  •      T  VI 


DEFENDERS   OF 
DEMOCRACY 

Contributions  from  representative  men 
and  women  of  letters  and  other  arts 
from  our  allies  and  our  own  country 


EDITED  BY 

THE  GIFT  BOOK  COMMITTEE 

OF 

THE  MILITIA  OF  MERCY 


"The  kinship  of  blood  between  nations  may 
RrovT  weaker,  but  the  kinship  of  ideals  and 
purposes  constitutes  a  permanent  Iwnd  of 
>"»ion-"  John  Lewis  Griffiths 


NEW  YORK:     JOHN   LANE   COMPANY 

LONDON  :  JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 

MCMXVIII 


COPYRIGHT,     1917 
BY    JOHN    LANE    COMPANY 


AU  rights  reserved 


The  net  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  this  book 
will  be  used  in  aiding  the  needy  families 
of  the  men  of  Ike  Naval  Militia  who  have 
been  called  to  the  defense  of   liberty. 


THE-PLIMPTON'PEESS 
NOBWOOD-HASS-  U'S-A 


TO 

OUR  SAILORS,  SOLDIERS,   AND  NURSES 

IN   APPRECIATION   OP   THEIR 

HEROISM   AND   SACRIFICE  IN  THE  CAUSE 

OP 

LIBERTY   AND   DEMOCRACY 

"Oh,  land  of  ours  be  glad  of  such  as  these." 

TBEODOSIA   GARRISON 


X  0  such  a  task  we  can  dedicate  our  lives  and  our  fortunes,  every- 
thing that  we  are,  and  everything  that  we  have,  with  the  pride  of 
those  who  know  that  the  day  lias  come  when  America  is  privileged 
to  spend  her  blood  and  her  might  for  the  principles  that  gave  her 
birth  and  happiness,  and  the  peace  which  she  has  treasured.  God 
helping  her,  she  can  do  no  other. 

WooDROW  Wilson. 


A  MESSAGE  FROM 
VICE  ADMIRAL  WILLIAM  SOWDEN  SIMS,  U.S.N. 

Commanding  the  American  Naval  Forces  Operating  in  European  Waten 

In  such  an  hour  as  that  with  which  we  are  now  confronted,  when  so 
much  depends  upon  individual  efforts,  our  hearts  swell  with  pride 
as  we  learn  of  the  thousands  of  Americas  best,  staunch  and  true 
men  who  are  so  willingly  forgetting  their  own  personal  welfare 
and  linking  their  lives  and  all  that  they  are  with  the  cause  of  liberty 
and  justice,  which  is  so  dear  to  the  hearts  of  the  American  people. 
All  honor  to  those  who  are  giving  themselves  as  such  willing  sacri- 
fices, and  may  God  grant  that  their  efforts  may  be  speedily  re- 
warded by  a  world  condition  which  will  make  them  realize  that 
their  efforts  have  accomplished  the  desired  result,  and  that  the 
world  is  better  and  happier  because  of  them. 


ya 


AMELRICAN  EXPEDITIONARY  FORCE 
OFFICE  OF  THE  COMMANDING  GENERAL 

August  4th,  1917. 

1  AM  very  pleased  to  have  an  opportunity  to  say  a  word  in  praise 
of  the  Militia  of  Mercy. 

Unless  our  women  are  imbued  with  Patriotic  sentiments,  there 
will  be  little  to  hope  for  in  our  life.  A  nation  is  only  as  great  as 
its  womanhood;  and,  as  are  the  women,  so  are  the  sons.  All  praise 
to  the  women  of  America! 

Please  accept  my  very  best  wishes  for  the  success  of  your  organ- 
ization. 


•m 


INTRODUCTION 

I  HAVE  seldom  yielded  so  willingly  to  a  request  for  my  written 
views  as  I  do  in  this  instance,  when  my  valued  friend,  the  mas- 
ter journalist,  Melville  E.  Stone,  has  asked  me,  on  behalf  of  the 
Book  Committee,  to  write  an  introductory  article  for  "The  Defend- 
ers of  Democracy."  Needless  to  say,  I  comply  all  the  more  readily 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  book  in  which  these  words  will  appear 
is  planned  by  the  ladies  of  the  Militia  of  Mercy  as  a  means  of  in- 
creasing  the  Fund  the  Society  is  raising  for  the  benefit  of  the 
families  of  "their  own  men"  on  the  battle-line. 

And,   what  a  theme!     It  demands   a  volume  from  any  pen 
capable  of  doing  it  justice.     For  the  present  purposes,  however,  I 
approve  strongly  of  a  compilation  which  shall  express  the  reasoned 
opinions  of  writers  representing  the  allied  nations,  while  it  is  a  real 
pleasure  to  turn  for  a  few  minutes  from  the  day's  anxieties  and 
consider  the  one  great  force  which  supplies  tlie  leaven  to  a  war- 
sodden  world.     Are  men  to  live  in  freedom  or  as  slaves  to  a  soul- 
less system? — that  is  the  question  which  is  now  being  solved  in 
blood  and  agony  and  tears  on  the  battlefields  of  the  Old  World. 
The  answer  given  by  the  New  World  has  never  been  in  doubt, 
but  its  clarion  note  was  necessarily  withheld  in  all  its  magnificent 
rhythm  until  President  Wilson  delivered  his  Message  to  Congress 
last  April.     I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  Mr.  Wilson's  utter- 
ance will  become  immortal.     It  is  a  new  declaration  of  the  Rights 
of  Man,  but  a  finer,  broader  one,  based  on  the  sure  principles  of 
Christian  ethics.     Yet,  mark  how  this  same  nobility  of  thought 
and  purpose  runs  like  a  vein  of  gold  through  tlie  rock  of  valiant 
little  Belgium's  defiance  of  the  Hun,  of  President  Poincare's  firm 
stand,  and  of  Mr.  Lloyd  George's  unflinching  labors  in  the  Sisy- 


X  INTRODUCTION 

phean  task  of  stemming  the  Teutonic  avalanche.  Prussia's  chal- 
lenge to  tlie  world  came  witli  the  shock  of  some  mighty  eruption 
undreamed  of  by  chroniclers  of  earthquakes.  It  stuimed  hu- 
manity. Nowhere  was  its  benumbing  efiFect  more  perceptible  than 
in  tliese  United  States,  whose  traditional  policy  of  non-interference 
in  European  disputes  was  submitted  so  unexpectedly  to  the  fierce 
test  of  Right  versus  Expediency.  And  how  splendidly  did  Presi- 
dent, Senator,  Congress  and  the  People  respond  to  the  test!  Never 
for  one  instant  did  America's  clear  judgment  falter.  The  Hun 
was  guilty,  and  must  be  punished.  The  only  issue  to  be  solved  was 
whether  France,  Britain,  Italy  and  Russia  should  convict  and 
brand  the  felon  unaided,  or  the  mighty  power  of  the  Western 
World  should  join  hands  with  the  avengers  of  outraged  law.  Well, 
a  purblind  Germany  settled  tliat  uncertainty  by  a  series  of  misdeeds 
which  no  nation  of  high  ideals  could  allow  to  pass  unchallenged. 
I  do  believe  most  firmly  that  President  Wilson  gave  the  criminal 
such  chances  of  reform  as  no  court  of  law  in  the  world  would 
grant.  But,  at  last,  his  patience  was  exhausted,  ^"hether  the 
enslavers  of  Germany  thought,  in  that  crass  ignorance  of  otlier 
men's  minds  they  have  so  often  displayed,  that  America  meant  to 
keep  out  of  the  war  at  all  costs,  or  were  merely  careless  of  conse- 
quences so  long  as  the  immediate  end  was  attained,  is  now  imma- 
terial. From  the  welter  of  Teutonic  misdeeds  and  lies  arises  the 
vital,  the  soul-inspiring  spectacle  of  a  union  of  all  democracies 
against  the  common  foe. 

And  right  here,  as  the  direct  speech  of  New  York  has  it,  I  want 
to  pay  tribute  to  the  sagacity,  the  clarity  of  vision,  the  sure  divina- 
tion of  the  truth  amidst  a  fog  of  deceit,  which  has  characterized 
almost  the  whole  Press  of  the  United  States  since  those  feverish 
days  at  the  end  of  July,  1914,  when  the  nightmare  of  war  was  so 
quickly  succeeded  by  its  dread  reality.     Efforts  which  might  fairly 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

be  described  as  stupendous  were  put  forth  by  the  advocates 
of  Kultur  to  win,  if  not  the  approval,  at  least  the  strict  neutrality 
of  America.  That  the  program  of  calculated  misrepresentation 
failed  utterly  was  due  in  great  part  to  the  leading  newspapers  of 
New  York,  Chicago,  Philadelphia  and  the  other  main  centers  of 
industry  and  population.  Never  has  the  value  of  a  free  Press 
been  demonstrated  so  thoroughly.  The  American  editor  is  ac- 
customed to  weigh  the  gravest  problems  of  life  on  his  own  account 
without  let  or  hindrance  from  tradition,  and  it  can  be  affirmed  most 
positively  that,  excepting  the  few  instances  of  a  suborned  pro-Ger- 
man Press,  the  newspapers  of  the  United  States  condemned  the  Hun 
and  his  methods  as  roundly  and  fearlessly  as  the  Independence 
Beige  itself  whose  staff  had  actually  witnessed  tlie  horrors  of  Vise 
and  Louvain.  These  men  educated  and  guided  public  opinion. 
Republican  or  Democrat  it  mattered  not — they  set  out  to  determine 
from  the  material  before  them  what  was  Right  and  what  was 
Wrong.  Once  convinced  that  the  Hun  was  a  menace  they  made 
their  readers  understand  beyond  cavil  just  what  that  menace  meant. 
So  I  claim  that  the  editors  of  the  United  States  are  entitled  to  high 
rank  among  the  Defenders  of  Democracy.  When  the  history  of 
the  war,  or  rather  a  just  analysis  of  its  causes  and  effects,  comes  to 
be  written  I  shall  be  much  mistaken  if  the  critical  historian  does 
not  give  close  heed  and  honorable  mention  to  the  men  who  wrote 
the  articles  which  kept  the  millions  of  America  thoroughly  and 
honestly  informed.  Think  what  it  would  have  meant  had  their 
influence  been  throwTi  into  the  scale  against  the  Allies!  By  that 
awesome  imagining  alone  can  the  extent  of  tlieir  service  be 
measured. 

If  I  have  wandered  a  little  from  my  theme,  since  our  veritable 
"Defenders"  are  the  men  who  are  giving  their  life's  blood  at  the 
front,  and  the  band  of  noble  women  who  are  tending  tliem  in  hos- 


xu 


INTRODUCTION 


pital,  it  will  surely  be  understood  that,  if  I  name  them  last  they 
are  first  in  my  heart.  I  have  seen  much  of  the  war.  I  know 
what  your  soldiers,  sailors  and  nurses  are  called  on  to  endure. 
I  rejoice  that  in  dedicating  this  book  to  them,  you  honor  them  while 
they  live.  Never  let  their  memory  fade  when  they  are  dead. 
They  gave  their  lives  for  their  friends,  and  greater  love  than  that  no 
man  hath. 


ESSENTIAL  SERVICE 

1  WISH  all  success  to  "The  Defenders  of  Democracy."  The  men 
who  are  in  this  war  on  the  part  of  the  United  States  are  dol.g  the 
one  vitally  important  work  which  it  is  possible  for  Americans  to 
do  at  this  time.  Nothing  else  counts  now  excepting  that  we  fight 
this  war  to  a  finish.  Thost  men  are  thrice  fortunate  who  are  given 
the  chance  to  serve  under  arms  at  the  front.  They  are  not  only 
rendering  the  one  essential  service  to  this  country  and  to  mankind, 
but  they  are  also  earning  honor  as  it  cannot  otherwise  be  earned 
by  any  men  of  our  generation.  As  for  the  rest  of  us,  our  task  is 
to  back  them  up  in  every  way  possible. 


KiTTERY  Point,  Me., 
October  14,  1917. 

1  AM  never  good  at  messages  or  sentiments,  but  perhaps  if  Mr. 
Rouland's  portrait  of  me  were  literally  a  speaking  likeness  it  would 
entreat  you  to  believe  that  I  revere  and  honor  in  my  heart  and  soul, 
the  noble  ideals  of  the  Militia  of  Mercy. 

Yours  sincerely, 


^prS'^'^L.UC/. 


/M    %'U.U^    '/fin,    f^A,    AV<7^    /?  ^'^^    / 


XHE  Editors  gratefully  acknowledge  the  rich  contributions  to  this  book, 
which  it  has  been  their  privilege  to  arrange.  The  generous  spirit  which 
has  accompanied  each  gift  permeates  the  pages,  and  its  genial  glow  will  be 
felt  by  all  our  readers. 

The  book  is  only  a  fire-side  talk  on  the  ideals  and  purposes  held  in 
common  by  those  who  belong  to  the  friendly  circle  of  the  Allies,  and  is  not 
intended  to  have  diplomatic,  economic  or  official  significance.  The  Edi- 
tors, however,  have  been  honored  by  the  approval  of  tlieir  plan,  and  have 
received  invaluable  assistance  from  diplomatists,  statesmen  and  men  of 
affairs  in  securing  contributions  olhenvise  inaccessible  at  the  present  time. 

We  wish  to  acknowledge  {although  we  cannot  adequately  express  our 
appreciation)  the  gift  from  the  President  of  the  United  States  of  his 
portrait,  and  his  kind  recognition  of  our  desire  to  render  an  international 
service. 

We  are  especially  indebted  to  Viscount  Ishii,  Special  Ambassador  from 
Japan  to  Washington,  D.  C,  and  to  Lord  Northcliffe,  Chairman  of 
The  British  War  Mission,  for  their  thoughtful  and  sympathetic  articles 
written  during  days  crowded  with  official  duties. 

We  owe  a  debt  of  thanks  to  His  Excellency,  the  Italian  Ambassador, 
for  the  privilege  of  publishing,  for  the  first  time  in  America,  D'Annun- 
zio  's  sonnet  to  GenercJ  Cadorna  ;  to  Their  Excellencies,  the  Portuguese, 
Greek  and  Chinese  Ministers,  for  helpful  suggestions  and  translations;  to 
Mr.  William  Phillips,  Assistant  Secretary  of  State;  to  Mr.  John  Hays 
Hammond;  to  Mr.  William  Henry  Fox,  Director  of  the  Brooldyn 
Museum;  to  Mr.  John  Lane,  Mr.  W.  J.  Locke,  Mrs.  Theodore  Mc- 
Kenna,  all  of  London,  England,  who  assembled  our  rich  English  contribu- 
tions for  us:  to  Mr.  WiLLiAJi  DE  Leftwich  Dodge /or  the  cover  design, 
a  rare  and  beautiful  tribute  to  our  defenders;  to  Mr.  AIelville  E.  Stone, 
without  whose  personal  influence  we  could  not  have  secured  contributions 
from  all  of  our  Allies  in  so  short  a  time;  to  Mr.  J.  Jefferson  Jones  and 
Mr.  William  Dana  Orcutt,  who  have  devoted  time  and  thought  without 
stint  to  the  making  of  the  book,  and  have  given  the  committee  the  advan- 
tage of  their  technical  knowledge  and  distinguished  taste  entirely  as  a 
patriotic  service;  to  Miss  Lilian  Elliott  for  her  many  translations  from 
Portuguese  and  Spanish  ivriters;  to  Miss  La  Montaigne,  Chairman  of 
The  Cardinal  Mercier  Fund;  to  Mr.  Talcott  Williams,  Mr.  Robert 
Underwood  Johnson,  Mr.  Daniel  Fhohman;  to  The  British  War 
Mission,  The  Friends  of  France  and  Her  Allies  Committee,  and  to  The 
Russian  and  Serbian  Civil  Relief  Committees.  To  all  we  give  our 
heartfelt  thanks. 

The  Editors. 


XVI 


PREFACE 

i  HIS  beautiful  book  is  the  expression  of  the  eager  desire  of  all  of 
the  gifted  men  and  women  who  have  contributed  to  it  and  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Militia  of  Mercy  to  render  homage  to  our  sailors,  soldiers, 
nurses  and  physiciems  who  offer  the  supreme  sacrifice  to  free  the  stricken 
people  of  other  lands  and  to  protect  humanity  with  their  bodies  from  an 
enemy  who  has  invented  the  name  and  created  the  thing  "welt-schmerz" — 
world  anguish.  But  we  want  it  to  do  more  than  extol  their  heroism  and 
sacrifice,  we  want  The  Defenders  of  Democracy  to  help  them  win  the  war. 
It  has  been  the  thought  of  those  who  planned  the  book  to  meet  three  things 
needful,  not  only  to  the  army  at  the  front,  but  to  that  vaster  army  at  home 
who  watch  and  work  and  wait  (and  perhaps  we  need  it  more  than  they 
who  have  the  stimulus  of  action) — to  strengthen  the  realization  that 
our  soldiers  of  sea  and  land,  though  far  away,  are  fighting  for  a  cause 
which  is  vitally  near  the  heart  of  every  man  and  every  woman,  and  the 
soul  of  every  nation — human  freedom;  "to  forge  the  weapon  of  victory 
by  fanning  the  flame  of  cheerfulness,"  and  to  be  the  means  of  lifting  the 
burden  of  anxiety  from  those  who  go,  lest  their  loved  ones  should  suffer 
privation,  bereft  of  their  protecting  care.  So  truly  is  this  an  Age  of 
Service,  that  the  response  to  the  scope  and  spirit  of  our  work  was  imme- 
diate and  within  four  months  from  the  day  we  sent  our  first  request  for 
co-operation  in  carrying  out  our  plans,  we  had  received  the  rich  contri- 
butions contained  in  this  book  from  men  and  women  of  letters  and  other 
arts,  not  only  from  our  own  generous  country,  but  from  all  of  our  allies. 

Perhaps  the  most  difiGcult  task  fell  to  those  who  were  asked  not  to  write 
of  the  war  but  to  practice  the  gentle  art  of  cheering  us  all  up — an  art  so 
easily  lost  in  these  days  of  sorrow,  suspense  and  anxiety — yet  we  have 
received  many  delightful  contributions  in  harmony  with  this  request,  and 
so  the  cheerful  note,  the  finer  optimism,  recurs  again  and  again,  and  is 
sustained  to  the  last  page. 

Such  a  book  is  historic.  It  is  a  consecration  of  the  highest  gifts  to  the 
cause  of  human  freedom  and  human  fraternity.  The  Militia  of  Mercy, 
in  expressing  its  gratitude  to  the  men  and  women  so  greatly  endowed  who 
have  made  this  book  possible,  trust  they  will  find  a  rich  reward  in  the 
thought  that  it  will  give  both  spiritual  and  material  aid  to  those  who  are 
fighting  in  the  great  war. 


xviii  PREFACE 

The  book  will  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the  families  of  the  men  of  the 
Naval  Militia  now  in  the  Federal  Service  and  taking  part  in  sea  warfare. 
John  Lane  Company  have  published  the  book  at  cost,  so  that  the 
publishers'  profits,  as  well  as  our  own,  will  be  given  to  the  patriotic  work 
of  the  Militia  of  Mercy. 

It  has  been  repeatedly  said  during  the  past  year  tliat  America  had  not 
begun  to  feel  the  war.  If  America  has  not,  how  many  Americans  there 
are  who  have!  We  all  know  that  the  responsibilities  and  inequalities 
of  war  were  felt  first  by  our  sailors.  The  whole  outlook  on  life  changed 
for  many  families  of  the  Naval  Militia  the  day  after  diplomatic  relations 
with  Germany  were  severed.  Husbands,  fathers  and  sons  were  called  to 
service  without  any  opportunity  to  provide  for  current  expenses  or  to 
arrange  for  the  future  welfare  of  their  loved  ones.  The  burden  of 
providing  for  the  necessities  of  life  fell  suddenly,  without  warning,  upon 
the  wives  and  mothers  of  the  civilian  sailors.  The  world  knew  nothing 
of  these  cases,  but  the  members  of  the  Militia  of  Mercy  who  have  visited 
the  needy  families,  realize  with  what  heroism,  courage  and  self-sacrifice 
the  women  have  done  and  are  doing  their  part. 

For  those  of  us  who  look  on,  to  help  them  is  not  charity,  but  opportimity 
for  patriotic  service  to  give  a  very  little  to  those  who  are  giving  all  they 
cherish  and  all  they  hold  dear  for  tlie  sake  of  human  Liberty  and 
Democracy. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGB 

WOODROW    WILSON,    PRESIDENT    OF    THE    UNITED 
STATES.    A  Message vi 

VICE    ADMIRAL    WILLIAM     SOWDEN    SIMS,     U.S.N. 

A   Message vii 

Commanding  the  American  Naval  Forces  Operating  in  European  Waters 

GENERAL  JOHN  J.   PERSHING,   U.S.A.    A  Letter.    .    .    .   viii 

Commanding  General  American  Eipediiionary  Force 

LORD   NORTIICLIFFE.     Introduction ix 

Chairman,  British  War  Mission  to  tite  United  States 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT.     Essential  Service xiii 

Twenly-sizlh  PresiderU  of  the  Untied  Stales.     Aullior  and  Statesman 

WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS.    A  Letter xiv 

American  Aulfior,  New  York,  President  of  tfie  American  Academy  of  Arts 
and  Ijetlers 

HERMANN  HAGEDORN.     "How  Can  I  Serve?" xv 

American  Writer,  New  York.     President,  Vigilantes,  American  League  of 
Artists  and  Autltors  fur  Patriotic  Services 

PREFACE xvii 

CONTRIBUTIONS  OF  WRITERS 

BELGIUM 
GASTON  DE  LEVAL.    Belgium  and  America 3 

Belgian  Advocate  for  Edith  Cavelt 

EMILE  CAMMAERTS.    Good  Old  BernstorffI 6 

Belgian  Poet 

CHINA 
TSA  YUAN-PEL    The  War  in  Europe 8 

Chancellor  of  the  Corernmenl  University  of  Peking 

(Translulion,  Courtesy  of  the  Chinese  Minister) 
xix 


XX  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  SYMPOSIUM— DEMOCRACY 
GEORGE  STERLING.    Invocation 9 

American  Poet,  California 

GEORGE  A.  BIRMINGHAM.    The  Test 10 

{Canon  James  O.  Hannay)  Irish  Clergyman  and  Man  of  Letters 
JOHN   GALSWORTHY.     The  New  Comradeship 12 

English  Writer 

WILLIAM  J.  LOCKE.    Questionings 14 

English  Novelist 

HENRY  VAN   DYKE.     Democracy  in  Peace  and  War.    .    .     17 

American  Clergyman,  Diplomat  and  Writer 

AN  INTERLUDE 

HARRIET  MONROE.    Sunrise  over  the  Peristyle  ....     18 
American  Poet,  Chicago 

THE  DRAMA 
DANIEL  FROHMAN.    Reminiscences  of  Booth 20 

Theatrical  Manager  and  Writer,  New  York 

J.  HARTLEY  MANNERS.    God  of  My  Faith :  A  One  Act  Play     24 

Dramatist,  New  York 

FRANCE 

FREDERICK   COUDERT.    To  France 44 

American  Lawyer  and  Publicist 

ANATOLE  FRANCE.     Ce  Que  Disent  Nos  Morts 47 

French  Author.     {Translation  by  Emma  M.  Pope) 

RUPERT  HUGHES.     The  Transports    (Poetical    Version  of 

Sully  Prud'homme's  "Les  Berceaux") 53 

American  Writer,  New  York 

STEPHANE  LAUZANNE.    La  Priere  du  Poilu 54 

French    Writer,    Editor    Le    Matin.      {Translation    by    Madame    Carlo 
Polifime) 

GREAT  BRITAIN 
HONOURABLE  JAMES  M.  BECK.    A  Tribute  to  England    61 

American  iMwyer  and  Publicist 

LORD  BRYCE.    Unity  and  Peace 66 

English  Statesman  and  AuUmr 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  xxi 

PAGE 

ROBERT  HICHENS.    Our  Common  Heritage 67 

English  Novelist 

STEPHEN   McKENNA.    Poetic  Justice 69 

English  SUUesman  and  Novelist 
L\DY  ABERDEEN.    The  Spell  of  the  Katies 84 

(Wife  of  the  Marquis  of  Aberdeen  and  Temair,  K.T.,  Scotland) 

MRS.  BELLOC  LOWNDES.    Sherston's  Wedding  Eve     .    .     87 
English  Novelist,  London 

RALPH  CONNOR.    A  Canadian  Soldier's  Dominion  Day  at 

Shorncliffe 105 

Canadian  Novelist 

STEPHEN   LEACOCK.    Simple  as  Day Ill 

Canadian  Writer,  Professor  McGill  University,  Montreal 

MAY  SINCLAIR.    The  Epic  Standpoint  in  the  War    .    .    .  118 

English  Writer,  London 

GREECE 
ELEUTHERIOS  VENIZELOS.    The  Greek  Spirit 122 

(Translation,  with  notes,  by  Carroll  N.  Brown) 

ITALY 

WILLIAM     ROSCOE    THAYER.     Italy    and    Democracy. 

A  Tribute  to  Italy 127 

American  Historian  and  Poet 

GABRIELE  D'ANNUNZIO.    Al  Gener.\le  Cadorna   ....   131 

Italian  Poet 

C.  H.  GRANGENT.   Sonnet 

(Poetical  version  in  English  of  the  above) 132 

Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Harvard  University 

AMY  BERNARDY.    The  Voice  of  Italy 133 

Italian  Writer 

JAPAN 

VISCOUNT  K.  ISHII.    Japan's  Ideals  and  Her  Part  m  the 

Struggle 137 

Japanese  Statesman,  Special  Ambassador  to  Washington,  D.C.,  1917 


xxii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAQB 

LATIN  AMERICA 
SAL0M6n  DE  la  SELVA.    Tropical  Interlude 141 

Nicaraguan  Poet 

LILIAN  E.  ELLIOTT,  F.R.G.S.    Latin  America  and  the  War  .  145 

Literary  Editor,  Pan  American  Magazine 

SALOMOiN  DE  LA  SELVA.    Drill 157 

PORTUGAL 

HENRIQUE     LOPES     DE     MENDONQA.      The    People's 

Struggle 161 

Portuguese  writer.     Member  of  Academy  of  Science,  Listen 
EDGAR   PRESTAGE.    Portugal 162 

English  Writer,  A  Friend  of  Portugal 

ROU MANIA 

ACHMED  ABDULLAH.    Roumanl\  —  An  Interpretation     .   166 
Novelist.     Of  the  Family  of  the  Ameer  of  Afghanistan 

RUSSIA 
IVAN  NARODNY.    The  Soul  of  Russia 169 

Russian   Patriot   and    Writer.     Member   of  the  Russian  Civilian  Relief 
Committee,  New  York 

IVAN   NARODNY.    The  American  Bride 175 

SERGEY   MAKOWSKY.    The  Insane  Priest 189 

Russian  Poet.     (Translation  by  Constance  Purdy) 

SERBIA 

M.  BOICH.    Without  a  Country 190 

Serbian  Poet.     (Translation  by  Professor  Miloche  Trivonnatz) 

UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 
INDIAN  PRAYER.    To  the  Mountain  Spkit 192 

Interpreted  by  Mary  Austin 

MAURICE  HEWLETT.    To  America,  4  July,  1776 _194 

English  Man  of  Letters 

CHARLES    W.    ELIOT.     The  Need  of   Force  to  Win  and 

Maintain  Peace 195 

President  Emeriius  of  Harvard  Universily 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  xxiii 

PAGB 

JAMES  CARDINAL  GIBBONS.    Woman  and  Mercy.   .   .   .  197 

Cardinal,  Ballimore,  Maryland 

JOHN  LEWIS  GRIFFITHS.    Joan  of  Arc  —  Her  Heritage  199 

From  an  address  delivered  in  I^ondon,  i911 
DR.  J.  H.  JOWETT.    Things  Which  Cannot  Be  Shaken  .    .  201 

English  Clergyman,  5th  Ave.  Presbyterian  Church,  N.Y. 

OWEN  JOHNSON.    Somewhere  in  France 206 

American  Author 

MELVILLE  E.   STONE.    The  Associated  Press 209 

Journalist,  Ceneral  Manager  of  the  Associated  Press,  N.Y. 

MARY  AUSTIN.    Pan  and  the  Pot-Hunter 214 

American  Writer,  Neto  York 

ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS.    Men  of  the  Sea 222 

American  Author,  New  York 

ARTHUR  GUY  EMPEY.    Jim  — A  Soldier  of  the  Kino.    .   226 

American.    Volunteer  Soldier  in  British  Army  and  Aulltor,  "Over  lite  Top" 

EDNA  FERBER.    Heel  and  Toe 235 

American  Novelist,  Chicago 

THEODOSIA  GARRISON.    Those  Who  Went  First  ....  243 

American  Poet,  New  Jersey 

LOUISE  CLOSSER  HALE.    A  Summer's  Day 214 

American  Actress  and  Autltor,  New  York 

LOUIS  UNTERMEYER.    Children  of  the  War 257 

American  Poet.  New  York 

FANNIE  HURST.    Khaki-Boy 258 

American  Novelist  and  DramalisL  New  York 

ROBERT  UNDERWOOD  JOHNSON.    Hymn  to  America     .  269 

American  Editor  and  Author,  New  York 

AMY  LOWELL.    The  Breaking  Out  of  the  Flags    ....  270 

American  Poet,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

MRS.  JOHN  LANE.    Our  Day 273 

American  by  Birth,  Author,  London,  England 

GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON.    Pour  La  Patrie  ....  275 

American  Niivetist,  Indiana  and  New  York 

EDNA  ST.  VINCENT  MILLAY.    Sonnet 286 

American  Poet,  Camden,  Maine 


xxiv  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

GOUVERNEUR   MORRIS.    The  Idiot 287 

American  Author ,  New  York 

JAMES  OPPENHEIM.    Memories  of  Whitman  and  Lincoln  .  299 

American  Poet,  New  York 

JAMES  F.   PRYOR.    Bred  to  the  Sea 304 

American  Lawyer  and  Writer 

EVALEEN  STEIN.    Our  Defenders 306 

American  Poet  and  Story  Teller,  La  Fayette,  Indiana 

ALICE  WOODS.    The  Bomb 308 

American  Slory  Writer 

MYRON  T.   HERRICK.    To  Those  Who  Go 322 

American  Statesman,  Diplomatist,  Publicist,  Cleveland,  Ohio 

AMELIE  RIVES.    The  Hero's  Peace 324 

Princess  Troubelzkoy,  American  Novelist  and  Poet,  Virginia 


We  gratefully  acknowledge  the  privilege  of  reproducing  the  following  articles :  — 

"The  Need  of  Force  to  Win  and  Maintain  Peace,"  by  Dr.  C.  W.  Eliot  —  New 
York  Times. 

"  The  Breaking  Out  of  the  Flags,"  by  Amy  Lowell  —  Independent. 

"The  Bomb,"  by  Axjce  Woods  —  Century  Magazine. 

"Children  of  the  War,"  by  Louis  Untermeyer  —  Collier's  Weekly. 

All  other  contribulions  have  been  especially  written  for  "The  Defenders  of 
Democracy." 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

CHILDE   HASSAM.    Allies'  Day. 

From  the  Original  Painting.     (Color) Frontispiece 

American  Artist,  New  York 

PORTRAIT.     WooDROW  Wilson,  President  of  the    United 

States vi 

PORTRAIT     PHOTOGRAPH.        His     Eminence     Cardinal 

Mehcier Facing  page      4 

ALRERT  STERXKR.     Sympathy.    From  the  Original  Drawing.       6 

American  Artist,  New  York 

PHOTOGRAPH.     "  The  Happy  Warriors."  (Marshal  Joffre 

AND  General  Pershing.)     Courtesy  of  L' Illustration,  Paris     14 

JULES   GUERIN.    Rallet  by  Moonlight.     (Color)    From  the 

Original  Painting 20 

American  Artist,  New  York 

JACQUIER.     Marshal  Joffre.    Drawn  from  life 44 

J.    J.    VAN    INGEN.     Memory.     From   the  Original  Drawing    52 
American  Artist,  New  York 

PORTRAIT     PHOTOGRAPH.       The     Right     Honourable 

Arthur  James  Balfour 66 

CHARLES  DANA  GIBSON.    Her  Answer.    From  the  Original 

sketch 126 

American  Artist,  New  York 

PORTRAIT   PHOTOGRAPH.     General  Cadorna 132 

WILLIAM    DE    LEFTWICH    DODGE.     From    the    Original 
Paintings  in  Oils 

(1)  The  Consecration  of  the  Swords Cover  design 

(2)  Atlantic  and  Pacific.     (Color) 140 

(3)  Gateway  of  All  Nations.      (Color) 160 

American  Artist,  New  York 

0.   E.   CESARE.      Russia's    Struggle.      From    the    Original 

Cartoon 168 

American  Artist,  New  York 

JOHN  S.  SARGENT.    "Big  Moon"  (Black  Foot  CiireF.) 

From  the  Original  Drawing 192 

American  Painter,  Boston,  Mass. 

zxv 


xxvi  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAca 
JOHN  S.  SARGENT.    A  Profile.    From  the  Original  Drawing 

Sketch 194 

GEORGE  BARNARD.    Abraham  Lincoln 196 

American  Sculptor,  New  York 

PORTRAIT  IN  OIL.     Theodore  Roosevelt.     By  George  Bur- 
roughs Torrey 204 

In  the  Brooklyn  Museum 

PORTRAIT   PHOTOGRAPH.     Melville  E.  Stone 212 

PENRHYN    STANLAWS.      Souvenir    de   Jeunesse.     (Color) 

From  the  Original  Pastel 220 

Scotch  Artist,  New  York 

PORTRAIT  PHOTOGRAPH.    Vice  Admiral  Whxiam  Somtjen 

Sims 224 

PORTRAIT    PHOTOGRAPH.      General   John  J.   Pershing  234 
WALTER  HALE.    "Once  the  Giant  Toy  of  a  People  who 

Frolicked."    From  the  Original  Water  Color 244 

American  Artist,  New  York 

JOHN    T.    McCUTCHEON.    The  Married  Slacker. 

From  the  Original  Drawing 268 

American  Artist,  Indiana 

W.  ORLANDO  ROULAND.    Portrait  of  W.  D.  Howells. 

From  the  Original  Painting 274 

American  Artist,  New  York 

GEORGE  BELLOWS.     The  Shipyard.      {Color) 

From  the  Original  Oil  Painting 304 

American  Artist,  New  York 

JOSEPH   PENNELL.    Dawn.    From  the  Original  Drawing  ...  324 
American  Artist,  New  York 

We  are  grateful  to 

The  Beck  Engraving  Co.,  of  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  for  furnishing  the 
black-and-white  reproductions  without  charge,  and  the  four-color  plates  at  cost. 

The  Plimpton  Press,  of  Norwood,  Mass.,  for  its  cooperative  assistance. 

The  Walker  Engraving  Co.,  of  New  York,  for  supplying  the  color  plates  for 
the  cover  at  cost. 

M.  Knoedler  &  Co.,  of  New  York,  for  the  privilege  of  reproducing  Jacquier's 
drawing  from  life  of  Marechal  Joffre. 

Frekehick  Keppel  &  Co.,  of  New  York,  for  Mr.  Pennell's  drawing. 


DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


BELGIUM  AND  AMERICA 

IT  would  be  a  banality  to  speak  about  the  gratitude  of  the  Belgian 
people  toward  America.  Every  one  knows  from  the  beginning 
of  the  war  that  when  the  Belgians  were  faced  with  starvation,  it 
was  the  American  Commission  for  Relief  which  saved  the  situation, 
forming  all  over  the  coimtry,  in  America  and  elsewhere,  those  Com- 
mittees who  collected  the  funds  raised  to  help  the  Belgians,  and 
saw  that  they  reached  the  proper  channel  and  were  utilized  to  the 
best  advantage  of  the  Belgian  people. 

But  helping  to  feed  the  people  was  not  enough.  The  Americans 
did  more.  They  gave  their  heart.  Every  one  of  them  who  came 
into  my  country  to  act  as  a  volunteer  for  the  Commission  for 
Relief,  brought  with  him  the  sympathy  of  all  the  people  that  were 
behind  him.  Every  one  of  these  young  Americans,  who,  under 
the  leadership  of  Mr.  Hoover,  came  into  my  country  to  watch  the 
distribution  of  the  foodstuffs  imported  by  the  Commission  for 
Relief,  became  a  sincere  friend  of  my  countrymen.  He  stood  be- 
tween us  and  tlie  Germans  as  a  vigilant  sentry  of  the  civilized 
world,  and  was  able  to  tell  when  he  returned  to  America  all  the 
sufferings  and  all  the  courage  of  the  Belgian  population. 

I  remember  traveling  in  America  some  ten  years  ago,  and  being 
asked,  while  I  was  reading  a  Belgian  paper,  where  this  paper  came 
from  and  when  I  answered  "It  came  from  Belgium,"  the  next  ques- 
tion was:  "Belgium?  It  is  a  province  of  France,  isn't  it?" 
Now  I  do  not  think  that  any  person  in  America,  nor  in  any  other 
part  of  the  world,  will  not  know  where  Belgium  is. 

The  American  Commission  for  Relief  has  to  be  credited  with 

putting  in  closer  contact  the  suffering  population  of  my  country 

with  all  persons  the  world  over  who  were  eager  to  assist  it.     It  es- 

3 


4  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

pecially  brought  the  suflFerings  of  our  people  nearer  to  the  heart 
of  the  American  population.  Every  one  knows  that.  But  what 
every  one  does  not  know  is  tlie  silent  and  effective  work  performed 
in  Belgium  by  Mr.  Brand  Whitlock,  the  American  Minister.  He 
was  the  real  man  at  the  right  place  and  at  the  right  hour.  No  one 
could  have  better  tlian  he,  with  his  deep  humanitarian  feeling, 
been  able  to  understand  the  moral  side  of  the  sufferings  of  the 
Belgians  under  the  German  occupation.  No  one  could  better  than 
he  find,  at  the  very  moment  when  they  were  needed,  the  words 
appropriate  to  meet  the  circumstances,  and  to  convey  to  the  people 
of  this  stricken  country  the  feelings  which  Mr.  Whitlock  knew  were 
beating  in  tlie  hearts  of  all  Americans. 

When  the  German  authorities  forbade  the  display  of  the  Bel- 
gian Flag,  and  the  Tri-Color  so  dear  to  our  hearts  had  to  be  hauled 
down,  the  American  Flag  everywhere  took  its  place.  Washington's 
birthday  and  Independence  Day  were  almost  as  solemn  festivities 
to  the  Brussels  people  as  the  fete  nationale,  and  thousands  of  per- 
sons called  at  the  legation  on  those  days ;  deputations  were  sent  by 
the  town  and  official  authorities  to  show  how  deep  was  the  Belgian 
feeling  for  the  United  States.  America  was  for  the  Belgians  "une 
second  Patrie,"  because  they  felt  that,  although  America  was  at  that 
time  remaining  neutral,  her  sympathy  was  entirely  on  our  side,  and 
when  the  time  would  come  she  would  even  prove  it  on  the  battle- 
fields. 

It  may  therefore  be  said  that  although  the  war  has  had  for  my 
country  the  most  cruel  consequences,  there  is  one  consolation  to  it. 
It  has  shown  that  humanity  is  better  than  the  pessimist  had  said  it 
was,  and  that  money  is  not  the  only  god  before  which  the  nations 
bow.  It  has  revealed  that  all  over  the  world,  and  especially  in 
America,  there  is  a  respect  for  right  and  for  duty;  it  has  proved 
that  the  moral  beauty  of  an  action  is  fully  appreciated.     The  war 


)■  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

1   'lit  the  sufTerings  oi  cur  people  nearer  to  the  heart 
'i..joiican  population.     Every  one  knows  ti    •       ^'■'    '^'.at 
'lie  does  not  know  is  the  silent  and  effective  v .  d 

in  )]elgium  by  Mr.  Brand  Whitlock,  the  American  Mim.i 
was  the  real  man  at  the  right  place  and  at  the  right  hour.  No  our; 
could  have  better  tlian  he,  with  his  deep  humanitarian  feeling, 
been  able  to  understand  the  moral  side  of  the  sufferings  of  the 
Belgians  under  the  German  occupation.  N-  ■•■"'  "ould  better  than 
he  find,  at  the  very  moment  when  they  v  led,  the  words 

appropriate  to  meet  the  circumstances,  and  to  convpv  to  the  people 
of  this  stricke^j^)^nti;^ii^sjQe]jjigs  -y bigti. Mt-.i5S'i^lP£^^*^  '«»sjf ^.^j^j.^^ 
beating  in  the  hearts  of  all  Americans. 

When  the  G^HJfin^i^^pti^j^^r^a^^ajJlfQ  display  of  the  l?.l- 
gian  Flag,  and  the  Tri-Color  so  dear  to  our  hearts  had  to  be  hauled 
down,  the  American  Flgg  e^y^ierg^ok^its^gj^e.  ,  Wixj^ii^qf^s,,^,,''^^ 
birthday  and  Independence  Day  were  almost  as  solemn  festiviln-s 
to  the  Brussels  people  as  the  fete  nationale,  and  thousands  of  per- 
sons called  ^rtht^fCii0(ioi/yn'/{^e  days ;  deputations  were  sent  by 
the  town  itim  official  authorities  to  show  how  deep  was  the  Belgian 
feeling  for  the  United  States.  America  was  for  the  Belgians  "une 
second  Patrie"  because  they  felt  that,  although  America  was  at  that 
time  remaining  neutral,  her  sympathy  was  entirely  on  our  side,  and 
when  the  time  would  come  she  would  even  prove  it  on  the  battle- 
fields. 

It  may  therefore  be  said  that  although  the  war  ha»  bad  ior  my 
country  the  most  cruel  consequences,  there  is  one  consolation  to  it. 
It  has  shown  that  humanity  is  better  than  the  pessimist  had  said  it 
was,  and  that  money  is  not  the  only  god  before  which  the  nations 
bow.  It  has  revealed  that  all  over  the  world,  and  especially  in 
America,  there  is  a  respect  for  right  and  for  duty;  it  has  proved 
tliat  the  moral  beauty  of  an  action  is  fully  appreciated.     The  war 


>^.^S 


BELGIUM— DE  LEVAL  5 

has  revealed  Belgium  to  America,  and  America  to  Belgium.  Tlie 
tie  between  our  two  countries  is  stronger  tlian  any  tie  has  ever  been 
between  two  far  distant  people,  and  nothing  will  be  able  to  break 
it,  as  it  rests  not  on  some  political  interest  or  some  selfish  reason, 
but  because  it  has  been  interwoven  with  the  very  fibers  of  the  hearts 
of  the  people. 


Avocat  la  cour  d'Appel  de  Bruxelles, 
Legal  adviser  to  the  American  and  British  Legations  in  Belgium. 


6  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

GOOD  OLD  BERNSTORFF! 

THE  entrance  of  America  in  the  war  has  been  nothing  short  of 
a  miracle — perhaps,  with  the  Mame,  the  most  wonderful 
miracle,  among  many  others,  which  we  have  witnessed  since 
August,  1914, 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  misunderstood.  I  am  not  necessarily  re- 
ferring to  supernatural  influences.  This  will  remain  a  matter  of 
opinion — or  rather  of  belief.  I  am  merely  speaking  from  the 
ordinary  point  of  view  of  the  man  in  the  street  concerning  what  is 
likely  or  not  likely  to  happen  in  the  world. 

People  have  very  generously  admired  Belgium's  attitude,  but 
anybody  knowing  the  Belgians  and  their  King  might  have  prophe- 
sied Liege,  and  the  Yser  battle.  Others  have  praised  the  timely 
interference  of  England  and  the  self-sacrifice  of  the  many  thou- 
sand British  volunteers  who  rushed  to  arms,  during  the  early  days 
of  the  war,  to  avenge  the  wrong  done  to  a  small  people  whose  only 
crime  was  to  stand  in  the  way  of  a  blind  and  rudiless  military 
machine.  But  such  an  attitude  was  too  much  in  the  tradition  of 
British  fair  play  to  come  as  a  surprise  to  those  who  knew  inti- 
mately the  country  and  the  people.  Besides,  from  the  Govern- 
ment's point  of  view,  non-intervention  would  have  been  a  politi- 
cal mistake  for  which  the  whole  nation  would  have  had  to  pay 
dearly  in  the  near  future,  as  subsequent  events  have  conclusively 
shown. 

But  America?  What  had  America  to  do  in  the  conflict?  She 
had  not  signed  the  treaties  guaranteeing  Belgium's  neutrality.  She 
was  not  directly  threatened  by  German  Imperialism.  She  had 
never  taken  any  part  in  European  politics.  Her  moral  responsi- 
bility was  not  engaged  and  her  immediate  interest  was  to  preserve 


^:'.-" 


SYMPATHY 

By  Alherl  Sterner 
From  llir  OriijinnI  Drannng 


BELGIUM— CAMMAERTS  7 

to  the  end  all  the  advantages  of  neutrality  and  to  benefit,  after  the 
war,  by  the  exhaustion  of  Europe.  .  .  . 

I  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing,  a  few  days  ago,  the  second 
contingent  of  American  troops  marching  through  London  on  their 
way  to  France.  The  Belgian  flag  flew  from  our  window  and,  as 
we  cheered  the  men,  some  of  them,  recognizing  the  colors,  waved 
their  hand  towards  us.  And  as  I  watched  their  bright  smile  and 
remembered  the  eager  interest  shown  by  so  many  citizens  of  the 
States  to  Belgium's  fate,  and  the  deep  indignation  provoked  beyond 
the  Atlantic  by  tlie  German  atrocities  and  by  the  more  recent 
deportations,  I  was  inclined  to  think,  for  one  moment,  tliat  I  had 
solved  the  problem,  and  that  their  sympathy  for  Belgium  had 
brought  these  soldiers  to  the  rescue.  We  are  so  easily  inclined  to 
exaggerate  the  part  which  one  coimtry  is  playing! 

But  as  I  looked  at  the  men  again,  I  was  struck  by  the  grim  ex- 
pression on  their  faces,  the  almost  threatening  determination  of 
tlieir  light  swinging  step.  And  I  soon  realized  that  neither  their 
sympatliy  for  England,  France  or  Belgium  had  brought  them  here. 
They  had  not  come  merely  to  fight  for  other  peoples,  they  had  their 
own  personal  grievance.  They  were  not  there  only  to  help  their 
friends,  but  also  to  punish  their  enemies. 

As  I  turned  in  to  resume  my  work,  I  heard  a  friend  of  mine 
who  whispered,  rubbing  his  hands:  "Good  old  Bernstorfi^!  Kiivd 
old  von  Paepen!     Blessed  old  Ludendorf !" 

And  I  understood  that  Germany  had  been  our  best  champion, 
and  that  her  plots,  her  intrigues,  and  her  U  boats  had  done  more 
to  convert  America  than  our  most  eloquent  denunciations.  There 
is  no  neutrality  possible  in  the  face  of  lawlessness  and  Germanism. 
Sooner  or  later  we  feel  that  "he  who  is  not  with  Him  is  against 
Him."  And  there  is  no  compromise,  no  conciliation  which  might 
prevail  against  such  feeling. 


8  CHINA  AND  THE  WAR  IN  EUROPE 


THE  WAR  IN  EUROPE 

Translation  of  a  part  of  an  address  by  Mr.  Tsa  Yuan-Pei,  Chancellor  of  the  Gov- 
ernment University  of  Peking  and  formerly  Minister  of  Education  in  the  first  Repub- 
lican Cabinet,  delivered  on  March  3rd,  1917,  at  Peking  before  the  "IFai  Chiao  Hou 
Yuan  Hui,"  or  a  "Society  for  the  Support  of  Diplomacy." 

I  AM  a  scholar  and  not  a  practical  politician.  Therefore  I  can 
only  give  you  my  views  as  a  man  of  letters.  As  I  see  it, 
the  War  in  Europe  is  really  one  between  Right  and  Might,  or  in 
other  words,  between  Morality  and  Savagery.  Our  proverbs  run 
to  this  effect:  "Every  one  should  sweep  the  snow  in  front  of  his 
door  and  leave  alone  tlie  frost  on  the  roof  of  his  neighbor,"  and  that 
"when  the  neighbors  are  fighting,  close  your  door."  These  prov- 
erbs have  been  used  by  the  anti-war  party  in  China  as  arguments 
against  China's  entrance  into  the  War.  The  War  in  Europe,  how- 
ever, is  not  the  "frost  on  the  roof  of  our  neighbor,"  but  rather  the 
"snow  right  in  front  of  our  door."  It  is  not  a  "fight  between  neigh- 
bors," but  rather  a  quarrel  within  the  family — the  family  of  Na- 
tions. China  therefore  cannot  remain  indifferent.  For,  if  Ger- 
many should  eventually  win  the  War,  it  would  mean  the  triumph 
of  Might  over  Right,  and  the  world  would  be  without  moral  prin- 
ciples. Should  this  occur,  it  would  endanger  the  future  of  China. 
It  is  therefore  necessary  for  China  to  cast  her  lot  with  the  Right. 

Courtesy  of  Chinese  Minister 


THE  GREAT  CAUSE— STERLING 
INVOCATION 

IJECAUSE  of  the  decision  of  a  few, — 
Because  in  half  a  score  of  haughty  minds 
The  night  lay  black  and  terrible,  thy  winds, 

0  Europe!  are  a  stench  on  heaven's  blue. 

Thy  scars  abide,  and  here  is  nothing  new: 

Still  from  the  throne  goes  forth  the  dark  that  blinds, 
And  still  the  satiated  morning  finds 

The  unending  thunder  and  the  bloody  dew. 

Shall  night  be  lord  forever,  and  not  light? 
Look  forth,  tormented  nations!     Let  your  eyes 
Behold  this  horror  that  the  few  have  done! 
Then  turn,  strike  hands,  and  in  your  burning  might 
Impel  the  fog  of  murder  from  the  skies, 
And  sow  the  hearts  of  Europe  widi  the  sun ! 

Bohemian  Club,  San  Francisco 
1915 


10  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

THE  TEST 

IT  HAS  been  my  fortune  to  see  something  of  the  war  with  the 
army  in  France,  and  something  also  of  what  war  means  for 
those  at  home  who,  having  sent  out  sons  and  brothers,  are  them- 
selves compelled  to  wait  and  watch.  I  have  seen  suffering  be- 
yond imagination,  pain,  hardship  and  misery.  I  have  seen 
anxiety  and  sorrow  which  I  should  have  guessed  beforehand  men 
could  not  have  borne  without  going  mad.  But  I  have  also  seen  the 
human  spirit  rise  to  wonderful  heights.  Men  and  women  have 
shown  themselves  greater,  nobler,  stronger  than  in  the  old  days  of 
peace  I  thought  they  could  be. 

It  would  not  be  very  astonishing  if  the  strain  of  war  had  called 
forth  a  fresh  greatness  in  those  whose  lives  were  already  seen  to 
be  in  some  way  great;  in  our  leaders,  our  teachers,  our  thinkers. 
Or  if  an  added  nobility  had  appeared  in  our  aristocracies  of  birth, 
intellect,  education,  wealth,  or  whatever  other  accidents  set  men 
above  the  mass  of  their  fellows.  Of  such  we  expect  a  great  re- 
sponse to  a  great  demand.  And  we  have  not  been  disappointed. 
The  old  rule  of  life.  Noblesse  Oblige,  has  proved  that  it  still  pos- 
sesses driving  force  with  the  most  of  those  to  whom  it  applies. 
The  thing  which  has  amazed  me  is  the  greatness  of  the  common 
man. 

This  I  in  no  way  expected  or  looked  for.  I  confess  that,  before 
the  war,  I  was  no  believer  in  the  great  qualities  of  those  who  are 
called  "the  people."  They  seemed  to  me  to  be  living  lives  either 
selfish,  sometimes  brutal,  always  sordid;  or  else  mean,  narrow,  and 
circumscribed  by  senseless  conventions.  I  believed  that  society, 
if  it  progressed  at  all,  would  be  forced  forward  by  the  few,  that 
the  many  had  not  in  them  the  qualities  necessary  for  advance,  were 


THE  GREAT  CAUSE— BIRMINGHAM  11 

incapable  of  the  far  visions  which  make  advance  desirable.  I 
know  now  tliat  I  was  wrong,  and  I  have  come  to  the  faith  that  the 
hope  of  the  future  is  in  the  common  people  who  have  shown  them- 
selves great. 

So,  I  suppose,  I  may  contribute  to  a  book  with  such  a  title  as 
"The  Defenders  of  Democracy."  For  now  I  am  sure  that  democ- 
racy has  promise  and  hope  in  it.  Only  I  am  not  sure  tliat  democ- 
racy has  even  begun  to  understand  itself.  The  common  people 
have  displayed  virtues  so  great  that  those  who  have  seen  them 
unite  in  a  chorus  of  praise.  Their  leaders,  elected  persons,  guides 
chosen  by  votes  and  popular  acclamation,  have  shown  in  a  hun- 
dred ways  that  they  will  not,  dare  not,  trust  the  people.  Our  silly 
censorships,  our  concealments  of  unpleasant  truths,  our  suppres- 
sion of  criticism,  our  galling  infringements  of  personal  liberty, 
witness  to  the  fact  that  authority  distrusts  the  source  from  which 
it  sprang;  that  the  leaders  of  our  democracy  reckon  the  common 
people  unfit  to  know,  to  think  or  to  act.  If  we  are  defending 
democracy  we  are  sacrificing  liberty.  Will  you,  in  America,  do 
better  in  this  respect  than  we  have  done?  You  believed  in  the 
common  people  before  England  did.  You  believe  in  them,  if  we 
may  trust  your  words,  more  completely  than  England  does.  Do 
you  believe  in  them  sufficiently  to  trust  them?  Or  do  you  think 
that  democracy  can  be  defended  only  after  it  has  been  blindfolded, 
hand-cuffed  and  gagged?  This  is  what  you  have  got  to  show  the 
world.  No  one  doubts  that  you  can  fight.  No  one  doubts  that 
you  will  fight,  with  all  your  strength,  as  England  is  fighting.  What 
we  wonder  is  whether  your  great  principle  of  government,  by  the 
people  and  for  the  people,  will  stand  the  test  of  a  war  like  this. 


12  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


THE  NEW  COMRADESHIP 

DEMOCRACY  is  the  outward  and  visible  sign  that  a  nation 
recognizes  its  own  needs  and  aspirations.  Democracy  wells 
up  from  the  very  pit  of  things.  Its  value  is  its  foundation  in 
actuality,  its  concordance  with  the  slow  unending  process  of  man's 
evolution  from  the  animal  he  was.  Democracy,  for  one  with  any 
comic  and  cosmic  animal  sense,  is  the  only  natural  form  of  govern- 
ment, because  alone  it  recognizes  States  as  organisms,  with  spon- 
taneous growth,  and  a  free  will  of  their  own.  Democracy  is  final; 
other  forms  of  government  are  but  steps  on  the  way  to  it.  It  is  the 
big  thing,  because  it  can  and  does  embody  and  make  use  of 
Aristocracy.  It  is  the  rule  of  the  future,  because  all  human  prog- 
ress gradually  tends  to  recognition  of  God  in  man,  and  not  outside 
of  him;  to  the  establishment  of  the  humanistic  creed,  and  the 
belief  that  we  have  the  future  in  our  own  hands. 

In  life  at  large,  whom  does  one  respect — the  man  who  gropes 
and  stumbles  upward  to  control  of  his  instincts,  and  full  develop- 
ment of  his  powers,  confronting  each  new  darkness  and  obstacle 
as  it  arises;  or  the  man  who  shelters  in  a  cloister,  and  lives  by  rote 
and  rules  hung  up  for  him  by  another  in  his  cell?  The  first  man 
lives,  the  second  does  but  exist.     So  it  is  with  nations. 

The  American  and  the  Englishman  are  fundamentally  demo- 
cratic because  they  are  fundamentally  self-reliant.  Each  demands 
to  know  why  he  should  do  a  thing  before  he  does  it.  This  is,  I 
think,  the  great  link  between  two  peoples  in  many  ways  very  dif- 
ferent; and  they  who  ardently  desire  abiding  friendship  between 
our  two  countries  will  do  well  never  to  lose  sight  of  it.  Any  sap- 
ping of  this  quality  of  self-reliance,  or  judging  for  oneself,  in  either 
country,  any  undermining  of  the  basis  of  democracy  will  imperil 


THE  GREAT  CAUSE— GALSWORTHY         13 

our  new-found  comradeship.  You  in  America  have  before  all 
things  to  fear  the  warping  power  of  great  Trusts;  we  in  England 
to  dread  the  paralyzing  influence  of  Press  groups.  We  have  botli 
to  beware  of  the  force  which  the  pressure  of  a  great  war  inevitably 
puts  into  the  hands  of  Military  Directorates.  We  are  for  the  time 
being  hardly  democracies,  even  on  the  surface;  the  democratic 
machinery  still  exists,  but  is  so  ungeared  by  Censorship  and  Uni- 
versal Service,  that  probably  it  could  not  work  even  if  it  wanted  to. 
We  are  now  in  tlie  nature  of  business  concerns,  run  by  Directors 
safe  in  office  till  General  Meetings,  which  cannot  be  held  till  after 
the  War.  But  I  am  not  greatly  alarmed.  When  the  War  is  over, 
the  pendulum  will  swing  back;  the  individual  conscience  which  is 
our  guarantee  for  democracy  and  friendship  will  come  into  its  own 
again,  and  shape  our  destinies  in  common  towards  freedom  and 
humanity.  The  English-speaking  democracies,  in  firm  union,  can 
and  ought  to  be  the  unshifting  ballast  of  a  better  world. 


^/rU^dou»r,7t:r 


14  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


QUESTIONINGS 

I  HAVE  a  brilliant  idea  which,  without  any  parade  of  modesty, 
I  hereby  commend  to  the  notice  of  the  American,  French  and 
British  Governments.  Let  them  get  together  as  soon  as  may  be 
and  give  us  an  authoritative  definition  of  Democracy.  Then  we 
shall  know  where,  collectively,  we  are.  Of  course  you  may  say 
that  it  has  been  defined  for  all  time  by  Abraham  Lincoln.  But 
thrilling  in  its  clear  simplicity  as  his  slogan  epigram  may  be, 
a  complex  political  and  social  system  cannot  be  fully  dealt  with 
in  fifteen  words.  I  thought  I  knew  what  it  was  until  a  tidy  few 
millions  of  friends  and  myself  were  knocked  silly  by  recent  events 
in  Russia.  Here,  where  the  privates  of  a  regiment  hold  a  mass 
meeting  and  discuss  for  hours  an  order  to  advance  to  the  relief  of 
sorely  pressed  comrades  and  decide  not  to  obey  it,  and  eventually 
throw  down  their  rifles  and  with  a  meus  conscia  recti,  proudly  run 
away,  we  have  Democracy  with  a  vengeance.  Not  one  of  the 
Defenders  of  Democracy  who  are  writing  in  this  book  would  stand 
for  it  a  second.  Nor  would  they  stand  for  the  slobbering  maniacs 
who  yearn  to  throw  themselves  into  the  arms  of  the  Germans,  and, 
with  the  kiss  of  peace  and  universal  brotherhood,  kiss  away  their 
brothers'  blood  from  their  blood-smeared  faces.  Nor  would  they 
stand  entirely  for  those  staunch  democrats  who,  inspired  with  a 
burning  sense  of  human  wrongs  but  with  none  of  proportion  or 
humor,  would  sacrifice  vital  interests  of  humanity  in  general  for 
the  transient  amelioration  of  the  lot  of  a  particular  section  of  the 
community.  For  years  these  visionaries  told  us  that  every  penny 
spent  on  army  or  navy  was  a  robbery  of  the  working-man.  We 
yielded  him  many  pennies;  but  alas,  they  now  have  to  be  repaid  in 
tlood. 


Tin:  IIMTY  WAUIUOKS' 


THE  GREAT  CAUSE— LOCKE  15 

America  has  joined  the  civilized  world  in  the  struggle  against 
the  surviving  systems  of  medieval  barbarism  in  Europe  that  have 
been  permitted  to  exist  under  the  veneer  of  civilization.  She  sees 
clearly  what  she  has  to  destroy.  So  do  we.  No  American  and 
Englisliman  can  meet  but  tliat  they  grip  hands  and  thank  God 
together  that  tliey  are  comrades  in  this  Holy  War.  They  are  out, 
like  Knights  of  Fable,  to  rid  the  earth  of  a  pestilential  monster; 
and  they  will  not  rest  until  their  foot  is  on  his  slain  monster's 
head. 

Which  is,  by  Heaven!  a  glorious  and  soul-uplifting  enterprise. 
In  it  the  blood  of  the  lowliest  is  as  the  blood  of  the  Martyrs,  rising 
to  God.  But  with  this  difference:  the  Martyrs  died  for  a  con- 
structive scheme — tliat  of  Christianity.  What  is  the  construc- 
tive scheme  for  which  we  are  dying?  It  is  easy  to  say  the 
Democratization  of  Mankind.  It  is  a  matter  of  common  assent 
that  this  consummation  is  ardently  desired  by  the  Royal  Family 
of  England,  by  enlightened  Indian  Princes,  by  die  philanthropists 
of  America,  by  the  French  artist,  by  die  Roumanian  peasant,  by 
the  howling  syndicalist  in  South  Wales,  by  the  Belgian  socialist, 
by  the  eager  soul  in  the  frail  body  who  is  at  the  helm  of  storm- 
tossed  Russia  to-day,  by  the  Montenegrin  mountaineer,  by  the 
Sydney  Larrikin  yelling  down  conscription,  by  millions  of  units 
belonging  to  the  civilized  nations  of  such  social  and  racial  diver- 
gence that  the  mind  is  staggered  by  the  conception  of  them  all 
fighting  under  one  banner.  But  are  we  sure  they  are  all  fighting 
for  the  same  thing?  If  they're  not,  there  will  be  die  deuce  to  pay 
all  over  the  terrestrial  globe,  even  with  a  crushed  Central  European 
militarism. 

Tliercfore,  witli  the  same  absence  of  modesty  I  cry  for  an  author- 
itative crystallization  of  the  democratic  aims  of  the  civilized  world. 
England  and  France  have  groped  their  way  tlirough  centuries 


16  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

towards  a  vague  ideal.  America  proudly  began  her  existence 
by  a  proclamation  of  the  equal  rights  of  man.  She  proudly  pro- 
claims them  now;  but  the  world  is  involved  in  such  a  complicated 
muddle,  that  the  utterances  of  George  Washington  and  Abraham 
Lincoln  (to  say  nothing  of  their  intellectual  and  political  ancestor 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau)  require  amplification.  The  political 
thought  of  the  older  nations  of  Europe  is  tired  out.  It  is  for  the 
fresher  genius  of  America  to  lead  them  towards  the  solution  of 
the  greatest  problem  which  has  ever  faced  mankind: — tlie  final, 
constructive  and  all-satisfying  definition  of  the  myriadwise  inter- 
preted word  Democracy. 


^ 


THE  GREAT  CAUSE— VAN  DYKE  17 

DEMOCRACY  IN  PEACE  AND  WAR 

DEMOCRACY  is  by  nature  a  lover  of  peace.  That  is  the  state 
which  it  regards  as  the  normal  condition  of  human  life,  and 
in  which  it  seeks  its  best  rewards  and  triumphs  by  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  common  effort  of  all  citizens  for  the  common  welfare. 

But  while  democracy  is  pacific  in  its  desires  and  aims,  it  is  not 
a  "pacifist."  It  is  willing  and  able,  though  not  always  at  the  mo- 
ment ready,  to  take  up  arms  in  self-defense.  In  its  broadening 
vision  of  a  fraternity  of  mankind,  which  shall  be  in  the  good  fu- 
ture not  only  intranational  but  also  international,  it  is  willing  also 
to  fight  for  the  safety  of  its  principles  everywhere,  and  for  the 
security  of  all  the  peoples  in  a  true  and  orderly  liberty.  That  is  the 
position  of  the  democracy  of  the  United  States  of  America  to-day. 

As  in  peace,  so  in  war,  the  success  of  the  democratic  effort  de- 
pends upon  the  fulness  of  the  cooperation  between  all  classes  and 
conditions  of  men  and  women.  Those  men  who  are  fit  for  mili- 
tary service  on  land  or  sea  must  render  it  willingly  and  to  the  ut- 
most of  their  strength.  Those  who  by  reason  of  age  or  weakness 
cannot  imdertake  that  service  without  danger  of  becoming  a  bur- 
den to  the  fighting  forces,  must  work  to  sustain  the  army  and  the 
fleet  of  freedom.     "If  any  man  will  not  work  neitlier  let  him  eat." 

The  women  also  must  do  their  part,  since  they  are  citizens  just 
as  much  as  the  men.  They  must  undertake  those  tasks  of  indus- 
try of  which  they  are  capable  and  thus  relieve  the  need  of  labor  in 
all  fields.  Above  all  they  must  give  themselves  to  those 
tasks  of  mercy  for  which  they  have  a  natural  aptitude.  And 
through  all  they  must  give  sympathy,  inspiration,  and  courage  to 
the  men  who  fi^ht  for  Liberty  and  Democracy. 


18  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


SUNRISE  OVER  THE  PERISTYLE 

"Ye  shall  know  the  truth,  and 
the  truth  shall  make  you  free." 

J_jOOK!  we  shall  know  the  truth — it  is  thy  word; 
The  truth,  0  Lord — shining,  invincible, 
Unawed.     And  shall  we  love  it.  Lord,  like  this. 
This  half-dark  flushing  with  the  wondrous  hope? 
How  can  we  love  it  more? 

Sweet  is  the  hush 
Brimming  the  dim  void  world,  soothing  the  beat 
Of  the  great-hearted  lake  that  lies  unlit 
Beyond  that  silver  portal.     Peace  is  here 
In  moony  palaces  that  rose  for  her 
Pale,  lustrous — it  is  well  with  her  to  dwell. 
The  truth — will  not  these  phantom  fabrics  fail 
Under  the  fierce  white  fire — yes,  float  away 
Like  mists  diat  wanly  rise  and  choke  the  wind? 

So  merciless  is  truth — how  shall  we  live 

And  bear  tlie  glare?     Now  rosily  smiles  the  earth. 

And  bold  young  couriers  climb  the  slope  of  heaven. 

With  gaudy  flags  aflare.     The  towered  clouds. 

Lofty,  impregnable,  are  captured  now — 

Their  turrets  flame  with  banners.     Wlio  abides 

Under  the  smooth  wide  rim  of  the  worn  world 

That  the  high  heavens  should  hail  him  like  a  king — 

Even  like  a  lover?     If  it  be  the  Truth, 

Ah,  shall  our  souls  wake  with  the  triumph.  Lord? 


AN  INTERLUDE— MONROE  19 

Shall  we  be  free  according  to  thy  word, 
Brave  to  yield  all? 

Look !  will  it  come  like  this — 
A  vivid  glory  burning  at  the  gate 
Over  the  sudden  verge  of  golden  waves? 
The  tall  white  columns  stand  like  seraphim 
With  high  arms  locked  for  song.     The  city  lies 
Pearled  like  the  courts  of  heaven,  waiting  the  tread 
Of  souls  made  wise  with  joy.     Why  should  we  fear? 
The  Truth — ah,  let  it  come  to  test  the  dream; 
Give  us  the  Truth,  0  Lord,  that  in  its  light 
The  world  may  know  thy  will,  and  dare  be  free. 


20  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


REMINISCENCES  OF  BOOTH 

FEW  of  the  younger  people  of  the  present  generation  know,  hy 
personal  experience,  how  nobly  and  incomparably  Edwin 
Booth  enriched  the  modem  stage  with  his  vivid  portraitures  of 
Shakespearean  characters.  The  tragic  fervor,  the  startling  pas- 
sion, and  the  impressive  dignity  with  which  he  invested  his  various 
roles,  have  not  been  equaled,  I  daresay,  by  any  actor  on  the  English 
speaking  stage  since  the  days  of  Garrick  and  Kean.  He  had  a 
voice  that  vibrated  with  every  mood,  and  a  mien,  despite  his  short 
stature,  that  gave  a  lofty  dignity  to  every  part  that  he  played.  But 
Booth  as  himself  was  a  simple,  modest,  amiable  human  being. 
Many  of  us  younger  men  came  to  know  him  in  a  personal  way, 
when  he  established  in  New  York  City  the  Players'  Club,  which  he 
dedicated  to  the  dramatic  profession,  and  which  is  now  a  splendid 
and  permanent  monument  to  his  fame  and  generosity. 

I  saw  him  frequently  and  had  many  chats  with  him.  When 
I  undertook  the  management  of  E.  H.  Sothem,  he  was  very  much 
interested  because  he  knew  young  Sothem's  father,  the  original 
Lord  Dundreary;  so,  when  Mr.  Sothem  appeared  in  the  first  play 
under  my  management,  "The  Highest  Bidder,"  I  invited  Mr.  Booth 
to  witness  the  performance.  He  expressed  his  delight  at  seeing 
his  old  friend's  son  doing  such  delightful  work,  and  the  three  of  us 
afterwards  met  at  a  little  supper  at  the  Players'.  He  told  us  that 
he  came  nearly  being  the  Godfather  of  young  Sotliem,  and  that  he 
was  to  have  been  called  "Edwin"  after  himself;  but  the  reason  why 
his  name  was  changed  to  "Edward,"  he  explained,  was  as  follows: 
When  young  Sothem  was  bom  in  New  Orleans,  the  elder  Sothem 
telegraphed  Booth,  asking  him  to  stand  as  Godfather  to  his  boy, 
but  Booth  did  not  wish  to  take  the  responsibility,  doubtless  for 


,:i)  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


REMLNISCENCES  OF  BOOTH 

FEW  of  the  younger  people  of  the  present  generation  know,  by 
personal  experience,  how  no*  ly  and  incomparably  Ekiwin 
Booth  enriched  the  modem  stage  with  bis  vivid  portraitures  of 
Shakespearean  charactd  tragic  he  startling  pas- 

sion, and  the  ■  ly  with  which  i  1  his  various 

roles,  have  r.  i^.<<.  -■'..  1  daresay,  by  any  .i  rhe  English 

speaking  sta^  _"  the  days  of  Garrick  and  Keai        .' '  •  In?  a 

voice  that  vibrated  with  every  mood,  and  a  mien,  despil-  ! 

stature,  that  gave  a  lofty  dignity  to  every  part  that  he  pla> 
Booth  as  himself  was  BAiiEfeT^B^stMOOlSfLlGMT 
Many  of  us  younger  men  came  ^ykwft%  bui^iH' 
when  he  established  in  New  YcRii7iC%<3riwwWi*y«*H'tf 
dedicated  to  the  dramatic  profession,  and  which  i  •  •  ' 

and  permanent  monument  to  his  fame  and  gener. 

I  saw  him  frequently  and  had  many  chats  with  : 
I  undertook  the  management  of  E.  H.  Sothem,  he  was  V' 
interested  because  he  knew  young  Sothem's  father,  the  ungiiiai 
Lord  Dundreary;  so,  when  Mr.  Sothem  appeared  in  x'     '■'       pR!\ 
under  my  management,  "Tlie  Highest  Bidder,"  I  i-"  "; 
to  witness  the  performance.     He  expressed  his  ,1; 

his  old  friend's  son  doing  such  delightful  work,  .«  ee  of  us 

afterwards  met  at  a  little  supper  at  the  V  i  us  that 

he  came  nearly  being  the  Godfather  of  y*  and  that  he 

was  to  have  been  called  "Edwin"  after  hit  :  me  reason  why 

his  name  was  changed  to  "Edward,"  he  ex)jijuit  u,  was  as  follows: 
\TTien  young  Sothern  was  bom  in  New  Orleans,  the  elder  Sothem 
.raphed  Booth,  asking  him  to  stand  as  Godfather  to  his  boy, 
Imt  Booth  did  not  wish  to  take  the  responsibility,  doubtless  for 


THE  DRAMA— FROHMAN  21 

reasons  of  his  own,  and  so  his  name  was  changed  to  "Edward"; 
but  he  confessed  that  it  was  a  matter  he  greatly  regretted.  He  told 
us  many  stories  of  his  early  career  as  an  actor,  one  of  which  I 
remember  as  a  very  amusing  experience  on  the  part  of  the  elder 
actor  when  on  his  way  to  Australia.  Mr.  Booth  had  an  engage- 
ment to  play  in  that  distant  section,  and  with  five  members,  the 
nucleus  of  a  company,  started  from  San  Francisco.  They  had 
occasion  to  stop  at  Honolulu  en  route.  The  stop  there  being  longer 
than  originally  anticipated,  and  the  news  of  his  arrival  having 
spread.  King  Kamehameha  sent  a  request  that  he  give  a  performance 
of  "Richard  HI"  in  the  local  theater.  In  spite  of  managerial  diffi- 
culties. Booth  (being  then  a  young  man,  ardent  and  ambitious) 
sought  to  give  a  semblance  with  the  scanty  material  at  hand,  of  a 
fair  performance.  He  had  to  secure  the  cooperation  of  members 
of  the  local  amateur  company.  The  best  he  was  enabled  to  do  for 
the  part  of  Queen  Elizabeth  was  an  actor,  short  in  stature,  defec- 
tive in  speech  and  accent,  but  earnest  in  temperament,  whom  he 
cast  for  this  eminent  role.  The  other  parts  were  filled  as  best  he 
could,  and  the  principals  with  him  enabled  Mr.  Booth  to  give  some 
semblance  of  a  decent  performance.  In  order  to  properly  adver- 
tise the  event,  he  secured  the  assistance  of  several  Hawaiians,  and 
furnished  them  with  a  paste  made  out  of  their  native  product  called 
"poi."  He  discovered  later,  to  his  amazement,  that  not  a  bill  had 
been  posted,  and  that  the  "poi,"  being  a  valuable  food  article,  had 
been  appropriated  by  the  two  individuals,  who  decamped.  Mr. 
Booth,  with  his  colleagues,  then  personally  posted  the  town  with  the 
bills  of  the  impending  performance.  On  the  evening  the  house 
was  crowded.  The  King  occupied  a  seat  in  tlie  wings,  there  being 
no  place  for  him  in  the  hall.  When  the  throne  scene  was  to  be 
set  for  the  play,  word  was  sent  to  His  Majesty  humbly  asking 
the  loan  of  the  throne  chair,  which  he  then  occupied,  for  use  in  tlie 


22  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

scene — a  favor  which  His  Royal  Highness  readily  granted.  At 
the  end  of  the  performance,  word  was  brought  to  Booth  that  the 
King  wished  to  see  him.  Booth,  shy  and  modest  as  he  was,  and 
feeling  that  he  could  not  speak  the  language,  or  that  His  Royal 
Highness  could  not  speak  his,  approached  His  Majesty  timidly. 
The  latter  stepped  forward,  slapped  the  actor  heartily  on  the  back 
and  said:  "Booth,  this  is  as  fine  a  performance  as  I  saw  your 
father  give  twenty  years  ago." 

The  question  as  to  whether  an  actor  should  feel  his  part  or  control 
his  emotions,  has  been  an  argument  which  has  interested  the  dra- 
matic profession  for  many  years,  since  it  was  first  promulgated  by 
the  French  writer  Diderot,  and  afterwards  ably  discussed  by  Henry 
Irving  and  Coquelin.  Of  course,  we  all  feel  that  no  matter  how 
violent  the  actor's  stress  of  emotion  is,  he  must  control  his  re- 
sources with  absolute  restraint  and  poise.  Sometimes,  however, 
an  actor  feels  he  is  under  the  sway  of  his  part  in  an  unusual  degree 
and  comes  to  the  conviction,  through  his  excitement,  that  he  has 
given  a  greater  performance  than  usual.  So  Booth,  one  night  at 
his  own  theater,  seeing  his  beloved  daughter  in  a  box,  and  desiring 
to  impress  her  with  his  work,  played  with,  as  he  felt,  a  degree  of 
emotion  that  made  him  realize  that  he  had  given  an  unusually 
powerful  interpretation.  At  the  end  of  the  play,  his  daughter  ran 
back  to  him  and  said:  "Wliy,  dad,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?" 
And  Booth,  awaiting  her  approval,  said:  "Matter?"  "Why  you 
gave  the  worst  performance  I  ever  witnessed,"  she  said.  This  con- 
trol of  one's  resources  and  the  check  upon  one's  feelings  was  indi- 
cated at  another  time  during  a  performance  of  Booth,  of  "Riche- 
lieu," as  told  to  me  by  the  actor's  friend,  the  late  Laurence  Hutton, 
the  writer.  Mr.  Hutton  and  Mr.  Booth  were  sitting  in  the  latter's 
dressing  room  at  Booth's  Theater.  Booth  was,  as  usual,  smoking 
his  beloved  pipe.     When  he  heard  his  cue,  he  arose,  and  walked 


THE  DRAMA— FROHMAN  23 

with  Hutton  to  the  prompter's  entrance,  where,  giving  his  pipe  to 
his  friend,  said:  "Larry,  will  you  keep  the  pipe  going  until  I 
come  off?"  Booth  entered  on  the  scene;  then  came  the  big  mo- 
ment in  the  play  when  the  nobles  and  the  weak  King  had  assembled 
to  defy  the  power  of  the  Cardinal;  and  Richelieu  launches  (as 
Booth  always  did  with  thrilling  effect)  the  terrifying  curse  of  Rome 
— a  superb  bit  of  oratorical  eloquence.  At  the  conclusion,  the 
house  shouted  its  wild  and  demonstrative  approval,  and  when  the 
curtain  dropped  on  this  uproar  for  the  last  time.  Booth  approached 
Hutton  at  the  prompter's  entrance  saying,  in  his  usual  quiet  voice: 
"Is  the  pipe  still  going,  Larry?" 

No  actor  we  have  ever  known  has  inspired  so  much  genuine  affec- 
tion— I  may  say  almost  idolatry — as  the  simple  Edwin  Booth 
aroused  in  the  hearts  of  his  friends  and  his  fellow-workers.  In 
the  beautiful  Players'  Club  House,  which  he  bequeathed  to  the 
dramatic  profession,  he  presented  also  his  own  valuable  theatrical 
library,  numbering  several  thousand  memorable  works  on  the 
stage;  and  no  one  event  greater  than  this  gift  to  his  fellow-players 
has  ever  occurred  in  the  dramatic  profession. 


24  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


GOD  OF  MY  FAITH 

A  Play  for  Pacifists 
IN  One  Act 

"//  the  God  of  my  Faith  be  a  liar 
Who  is  U  that  1  shall  trust?" 

THE  PEOPLE  IN  THE  PLAY 

Nelson  Dartrey 
Dermod  Gilruth 

The  action  passes  in  Daruey's  Chambers  in  the  late  Spring  of 
Nineteen  Hundred  and  Fifteen. 

(The  lowering  of  the  Curtain  momentarily  will  denote  the  passing  of  several  days.) 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS  25 


GOD  OF  MY  FAITH 

The  curtain  discloses  a  dark  oak  room. 

Nelsow  Dabtrey  is  seated  at  a  writing  table  studying  maps.  He  is  a  man  in  the 
early  thirties,  prematurely  uorn  and  old.  His  face  is  burned  a  deep  brick  color 
and  is  sharpened  by  jatigue  and  loss  oj  blood.  His  hair  is  sparse,  dry  and  turning 
gray.  Around  the  upper  part  of  his  head  is  a  bandage  covered  largely  by  a  black 
skull-cap.  Of  over  average  height  the  man  is  spare  and  muscular.  The  eye  is  keen 
and  penetrating:  his  voice  abrupt  and  authoritative.  An  occasional  flash  oj  humor 
brings  an  old-time  twinkle  to  the  one  and  heartiness  to  the  other.  He  is  wearing  the 
undress  uniform  of  a  major  in  the  British  army. 

The  door  bell  rings. 

With  an  impatient  ejaculation  he  goes  into  the  passage  and  opens  the  outer  door. 
Standing  outside  cheerjully  humming  a  tune  is  a  large,  forceful,  breezy  young  man  of 
twenty-eight.  He  is  Dermod  Gilruth.  Splendid  in  physique,  charming  of  manner, 
his  slightly-marked  Dublin  accent  lends  a  piquancy  to  his  conversation.  He  has  all 
the  ease  and  poise  of  a  traveled,  polished  young  man  of  breeding.  Dartrey's  face 
brightens  as  ht  holds  out  a  welcoming  hand. 

DARTREY 
Hello,  GiL 

GILRUTH 

(Saluting  him  as  he  laughs  genially) 
May  I  come  into  officers'  quarters? 

DARTREY 

I'm  glad  to  have  you.     I'm  quite  alone  with  hours  on  my  hands. 

(He  brings  Gilruth  into  the  room  and  wheels  a  comfortable  leather  arm  chair 
in  front  of  him) 

Sit  down. 

GILRUTH 

Indeed  I  will  not.     Look  at  your  desk  there.     I'll  not  interrupt 
your  geography  for  more  than  a  minute. 

DARTREY 
(Forces  him  into  the  chair) 
I'm  glad  to  get  away  from  it.     Why,  you  look  positively  boyish. 


26  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

GILRUTH 

And  why  not?     I  am  a  boy. 

(Chuckles) 

DARTREY 

What  are  you  so  pleased  with  yourself  about? 

GILRUTH 

The  greatest  thing  in  the  world  for  youth  and  high-spirits.     I'm 
going  to  be  married  next  week. 

DARTREY 

(Incredulously) 

You're  not? 
I  tell  you  I  am. 
Don't  be  silly. 
What's  silly  about  it? 
Oh,  I  don't  know. 

GILRUTH 

Of  course  you  don't  know.     You've  never  tried  it. 

DARTREY 
I  should  think  not. 

GILRUTH 

Well,  I'm  going  to  and  I  want  you  to  father  me.     Stand  up  beside 
me  and  see  me  through.     Will  you? 

DARTREY 

If  you  want  me  to. 


GILRUTH 


DARTREY 


GILRUTH 


DARTREY 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS  27 

GILRUTH 

Well,  I  do  want  you  to. 

DARTREY 

All  right. 

GILRUTH 

You  don't  mind  now? 

DARTREY 

My  dear  chap.     It's  charming  of  you  to  think  of  me. 

GILRUTH 

I've  known  you  longer  than  any  one  over  here.  And  I  like  you 
better.     So  there  you  are. 

DARTREY 

(Laughing) 

Poor  old  Dermod!     Well,  well! 

GILRUTH 
There's  nothing  to  laugh  at,  or  "well,  well"  about. 

DARTREY 

Do  I  know  the — ? 

GILRUTH 

(Shakes  his  head) 

She's  never  been  over  before.  Everything  will  be  new  to  her. 
I  tell  you  it's  going  to  be  wonderful.  I've  planned  out  the 
most  delightful  trip  through  Ireland — she's  Irish,  too. 

DARTREY 

Is  she? 

GILRUTH 

But,  like  me,  bom  in  America.     She's  crazy  to  see  the  old  country. 


28  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

DARTREY 

She  couldn't  have  a  better  guide. 

GILRUTH 

(Enthusiastically) 

She's  beautiful,  she's  brilliant:  she's  good — she's  everything  a  man 
could  wish. 

DARTREY 

That's  the  spirit.     Will  you  make  your  home  over  here? 

GILRUTH 
No.     We'll  stay  till  the  autumn.     Then  I  must  go  back  to  America. 
But  some  day  when  all  this  fighting  is  over  and  people  talk 
of  something  besides  killing  each  other  I  want  to  have  a  home 
in  Ireland. 

DARTREY 

I  suppose  most  of  you  Irishmen  in  America  want  to  do  that? 

GILRUTH 

Indeed  they  do  not.  Once  they  get  out  to  America  and  do  well 
they  stay  there  and  become  citizens.  My  father  did.  Do  you 
think  he'd  live  in  Ireland  now?  Not  he.  He  talks  all  the 
time  about  Ireland  and  the  hated  Sassenachs — that's  what 
he  calls  you  English — and  he  urges  the  fellows  at  home  in 
the  old  country  to  fight  for  their  rights.  But  since  he  made 
his  fortune  and  became  an  American  citizen  the  devil  a  foot 
has  he  ever  put  on  Irish  soil.  He's  always  going,  but  he 
hasn't  got  there  yet.  And  as  for  living  there?  Oh,  no, 
America  is  good  enough  for  him,  because  his  interests  are 
there.  I  want  to  live  in  Ireland  because  my  heart  is  there. 
So  was  my  poor  mother's. 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS  29 

(Springing  up) 

Now  I'm  ofT.     You  don't  know  how  happy  you  make  me  by 
promising  to  be  my  best  man. 

DARTREY 
My  dear  fellow — 

GILRUTH 

And  just  wait  until  you  see  her.  Eyes  you  lose  yourself  in.  A 
voice  soft  as  velvet.  A  brain  so  nimble  that  wit  flows  like 
music  from  her  tongue.  Poetry  too.  She  dances  like  thistle- 
down and  sings  like  a  thrush.  And  witli  all  that  she's  in  love 
with  me. 

DARTREY 

I'm  delighted. 

GILRUTH 

I  want  her  to  meet  you  first.  A  snug  little  dinner  before  the  wed- 
ding. She's  heard  so  much  against  the  English  I  want  her  to 
see  the  best  specimen  they've  got. 

(Dartrey  laughs  heartily) 

I  tell  you  if  you  pass  muster  with  her  you  have  the  passport  to 
Kingdom  Come. 
(Laughing  as  uetl  as  he  grips  Dartrey's  hand) 

Good-by. 

DARTREY 
(As  they  walk  to  the  door) 

When  will  it  be? 

GILRUTH 

Next  Tuesday.     I'll  ring  you  up  and  give  you  the  full  particulars. 

DARTREY 

In  church? 


30  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

GILRUTH 
Church!     Cathedral!     His  Eminence  will  officiate. 

DARTREY 

Topping. 

GILRUTH 
Well,  you  see,  we  Irish  only  marry  once.     So  we  make  an  occasion 
of  it. 

DARTREY 
Splendid.     I'll  look  forward  to  it. 

GILRUTH 

(Looking  at  the  bandage) 

Is  your  head  getting  all  right? 

DARTREY 

Oh,  dear,  yes.     It's  quite  healed  up.     I'll  have  this  thing  off  in 
a  day  or  two. 

(Touching  the  bandage) 

I  expect  to  be  back  in  a  few  weeks. 


GILRUTH 

(Anxiously) 

Again? 

DARTREY 

Yes. 

GILRUTH 

If  ever  a  man 

had  done  his  share,  you  have, 

DARTREY 

They  need    le 

.     They 

need 

us  all. 

GILRUTH 

The  third  time. 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS  31 

DARTREY 

There  are  many  who  have  done  the  same. 

GILRUTH 
(Shudders) 

How  long  will  it  last? 

DARTREY 

Until  the  Hun  is  beaten. 

GILRUTH 

Years,  eh? 

DARTREY 
It  looks  like  it.     We've  hardly  begun  yet.     It  will  take  a  year  to 
really  get  the  ball  rolling.     Then  things  will  happen.     Tell 
me.     How  do  they  feel  in  America?     Frankly. 

GILRUTH 
All  the  people  who  matter  are  pro-Ally. 

DARTREY 

Are  you  sure? 

GILRUTH 

I'm  positive. 

Are  you?     Come,  now. 

Why,  of  course  I  am. 

DARTREY 

They  may  be  pro-Ally,  but  they're  not  pro-English. 

GILRUTH 

That's  true.     Many  of  them  are  not.     But  if  ever  the  test  comes, 
they  will  be. 


DARTREY 


GILRUTH 


32  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

DARTREY 
(Shakes  his  head  doubtfully) 

I  wonder.  It  seems  a  pity  not  to  bury  all  the  Bunker-Hill  and 
Boston-tea-chest  prejudices. 

GILRUTH 

You're  right  there. 

DARTREY 

Why  your  boys  and  girls  are  taught  in  their  school-books  to  hate  us. 

GILRUTH 
In  places  they  are.     Now  that  I  know  the  English  a  little  I  have 
been  agitating  to  revise  them.     It  all  seems  so  damned  cheap 
and  petty  for  a  big  country  to  belittle  a  great  nation  through 
the  mouth  of  children. 

DARTREY 
There's  no  hatred  like  family  hatred.     After  all  we're  cousins, 
speaking  the  same  tongue  and  with  pretty  much  the  same 
outlook. 

GILRUTH 

There's  one  race  in  America  that  holds  back  as  strongly  as  it  can 
any  better  understanding  between  the  two  countries,  and  that's 
my  race — the  Irish.  And  well  I  know  it.  I  was  brought  up 
on  it.  There  are  men  to-day,  men  of  position  too,  in  our  big 
cities  who  have  openly  said  they  want  to  see  England  crushed 
in  this  war. 

DARTREY 

So  I've  heard.  It  would  be  a  sorry  day  for  the  rest  of  civilization, 
and  particularly  America,  if  we  were. 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS  33 

GILRUTU 

You  can't  convince  them  of  that.  They  carry  on  tlie  prejudices  and 
hatred  of  generations.  I  have  accused  some  of  them  of  being 
actively  pro-German;  of  tinkering  with  German  money  to 
foster  revolution  in  Ireland. 

DARTREY 

Do  you  believe  that? 

GILRUTH 

I  do.  Thank  God  there  are  not  many  of  them.  I  have  accused 
them  of  taking  German  money  and  then  urging  the  poor  un- 
fortunate poets  and  dreamers  to  do  the  revolting  while  they 
are  safely  three  thousand  miles  away.  I  don't  know  of  many 
who  are  willing  to  cross  the  water  and  do  it  themselves.  Talk- 
ing and  writing  seditious  articles  is  safe.  Take  my  own 
father.  He  says  frankly  that  he  doesn't  want  Germany  to 
win  because  he  hates  Germans.  Most  Irishmen  do.  Besides 
they've  done  my  father  some  very  dirty  tricks.  But  all  the 
same  he  wants  to  see  England  lose.  All  the  doubtful  ones  I 
know,  who  don't  dare  come  out  in  the  open,  speak  highly  of 
the  French  and  are  silent  when  English  is  mentioned.  I 
blame  a  great  deal  of  that  on  your  Government.  You  take  no 
pains  to  let  the  rest  of  the  world  know  what  England  is  doing. 
You  and  I  know  that  without  the  British  fleet  America  wouldn't 
rest  as  easy  as  she  does  to-day,  and  without  the  litde  British 
army  the  Huns  would  have  been  in  Paris  and  Calais  months 
ago.  We  know  that,  and  so  do  many  others.  But  the  great 
mass  of  the  people,  particularly  the  Irish,  cry  all  the  time, 
"\^Tiat  is  England  doing?"  Your  government  should  see  to 
it  that  they  know  what  she's  doing. 


34  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

DARTREY 

It's  not  headquarters'  way. 

GILRUTH 

I  know  it  isn't.  And  the  more's  the  pity.  Another  thing  where 
you  went  all  wrong.  Why  not  have  let  Asquith  clear  up  the 
Irish  muddle?  Why  truckle  to  a  handful  of  disloyal  North 
of  Ireland  traitors?  If  the  Government  had  court  martialed 
the  ring-leaders,  tried  the  rest  for  treason  and  put  the  Irish 
Government  in  Dublin,  why,  man,  three-quarters  of  the  male 
population  of  the  South  of  Ireland  would  be  in  the  trenches 
now. 

DARTREY 

Don't  let  us  get  into  that.  I  was  one  of  the  officers  who  mutinied. 
I  would  rather  resign  my  commission  than  shoot  down  loyal 
subjects. 

GILRUTH 

{Hotly) 

Loyal?  Loyal!  When  they  refused  to  carry  out  their  Govern- 
ment's orders?  When  they  deny  justice  to  a  long  suffering 
people?     Loyal!     Don't  prostitute  the  word. 

DARTREY 

(Angrily) 

I  don't  want  to — 

GILRUTH 

(Coing  on  vehemently) 

It's  just  that  kind  of  pig-headed  ignorance  that  has  kept  the  two 
countries  from  understanding  each  other.  Why  shouldn't  Ire- 
land govern  herself.  South  Africa  does.  Australia  does. 
And  when  you're  in  trouble  they  leap  to  your  flag.  Yet  there 
is  a  country  a  few  miles  from  you  that  sends  the  best  of  her 
people  to  your  professions  and  they  invariably  get  to  the  top 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS  35 

of  them.  Irishmen  have  commanded  your  armies  and  Ire- 
land has  given  you  admirals  for  your  fleet  and  at  least  one  of 
us  has  been  your  Lord  Chief  Justice.  Yet,  by  God,  they  can't 
be  trusted  to  govern  themselves.  I  tell  you  the  English  treat- 
ment of  Ireland  makes  her  the  laughing-stock  ot  the  world. 

DARTREY 
(Opens  the  door,  then  turns  and  looks  straight  at  Gilruth) 

My  head  bothers  me.     Will  you  kindly — 

GILRUTH 

(All  contrition) 

I'm  SO  sorry.  I  didn't  mean  to  blaze  out.  Do  forgive  me  like  a 
good  fellow.  It's  an  old  sore  of  mine  and  sometimes  it  makes 
me  wince.     It  did  just  now.     Don't  be  mad  witli  me. 

(The  sound  of  a  boy's  voice  calling  newspapers  is  heard  faintly  in  the  distance; 
then  the  hoarse  tones  of  a  man  shouting  indistinctly;  then  a  chorus  of  men 
and  boys  comes  nearer  and  nearer  calling  of  some  calamity.  Dartrey  hurries 
out  through  the  outer  door.  Gilruth  stands  ashamed.  He  does  not  want  to 
leave  his  friend  in  bad  blood.  He  would  like  to  put  things  right  before  going. 
He  waits  for  Dartrey  to  come  back. 

In  a  few  moments  Dartrey  walks  through  the  outer  doorway  and  into  the  room. 
He  is  very  white,  very  agitated  and  his  face  is  set  and  determined.  He  is 
reading  a  special  edition  of  an  evening  paper  with  great  "scare"  head  lines. 

The  sound  of  the  voices  crying  the  news  in  the  street  grows  fainter  and  fainter. 

Dartrey  stops  in  front  of  Gilruth  and  tries  to  speak:  nothing  coherent  comes 
from  his  lips.  He  thrusts  the  paper  into  Cilruth's  hands  and  watches  his 
face  as  he  reads. 

Gilruth  reads  it  once  slowly,  then  rapidly.  He  stands  immovable  staring  at  the 
news-sheet.  It  slips  from  his  fingers  and  he  cowers  down,  stooping  at  the 
shoulders,  glaring  at  the  floor.) 

DARTREY 

(Almost  frenzied) 

Now  will  your  country  come  in?  Now  will  they  fight  for  civiliza- 
tion? A  hundred  of  her  men,  women  and  children  done  to 
death.  Is  that  war?  Or  is  it  murder?  Already  men  are 
reading  in  New  York  and  Washington  of  tlie  sinking  of  tliat 


36  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ship  and  the  murder  of  their  people.     What  are  they  going 
to  do?     What  are  you  going  to  do? 

GILRUTH 

{Creeps  unsteadily  to  the  door;  standing  himself  with  a  hand  on  the  lock;  his 
back  is  to  the  room.    He  speaks  in  a  strange,  far-off,  quavering  voice) 

She  was  on  the  Lusitania!     Mona.     She  was  on  it.     Mona  was 
on  it. 

(Creeps  out  through  the  street  door  and  disappears) 

(Dartrey  looks  after  him) 

{The  curtain  falls  and  rises  again  in  a  few  moments.  Several  days  have  elapsed. 
Dartrey,  in  full  uniform,  is  busily  packing  his  regimental  kit.  The  bandage 
has  been  removed  from  his  head.  The  telephone  bell  rings.  Dartrey  answers 
it) 

DARTREY 

Yes.     Yes.     Who    is   it?     Oh!     Do.     Yes.     No.     Not   at    all. 
Come  up.     All  right. 

{Replaces  the  receiver  and  continues  packing) 

{In  a  few  moments  the  door-bell  rings.  Dartrey  opens  the  outer  door  and  brings 
GiLRUTH  into  the  room.  He  is  in  deep  mourning;  is  very  white  and  broken. 
He  seems  grievously  ill.  Dartrey  looks  at  him  commiseratingly.  He  is  sensi- 
tive about  speaking) 

GILRUTH 
{Faintly) 

Put  up  with  me  for  a  bit?     Will  you? 

{Dartrey  fust  puts  his  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder) 
{Gilruth  sinks  wearily  and  lifelessly  into  a  chair) 

She  is  buried. 

DARTRET 

What? 

GILRUTH 

(Nods) 

She  is  buried.     In  Kensal  Green.     Half  an  hour  ago. 

DARTREY 
(In  a  whisper) 

They  found  her? 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS  37 

GILRUTH 
(Nods  again) 

Picked  up  by  some  fishermen. 

DARTRET 

Qucenstown? 

GILRUTH 
A  few  miles  outside.     I  went  diere  Uiat  night  and  stayed  there  until 
— until  she — they  found  her. 

(Covers  his  lace.    Dartrey  puts  his  arm  around  him  and  presses  his  shoulder) 

I  wandered  round  there  for  days.  Wasn't  so  bad  while  it 
was  light.  People  to  talk  to.  All  of  us  on  the  same  er- 
rand. Searching.  Searching.  Searching.  Hoping — some 
of  them.  I  didn't.  I  knew  from  the  first.  I  knew.  It  was 
horrible  at  night  alone,  I  had  to  try  and  sleep  sometimes. 
They'd  wake  me  when  the  bodies  were  brought  in.  Hers 
came  toward  dawn  one  morning.  Three  little  babies,  all 
twined  in  each  others  arms,  lying  next  to  her.  Three  little 
babies.     Cruel  that.     Wasn't  it? 

(Waits  as  he  thinks;  then  he  goes  on  dully;  evenly,  with  no  emotion) 

Fancy!  She'd  been  out  in  that  water  for  days  and  nights.  All 
alone.  Tossed  about.  Days  and  nights.  She!  who'd  never 
hurt  a  soul.  Couldn't.  She  was  always  laughing  and  happy- 
Drifting  about.  All  alone.  Quite  peaceful  she  looked. 
Except — except — 

(Covers   his   eyes   and  groans.     In  a  little  while  he  looks  up  at  Dartrey  and 
touches  his  left  eye) 

This.     Gone.     Gulls. 

(Dartrey  draws  his  breath  in  sharply  and  turns  a  little  away) 

In  a  few  hours  the  cuts  opened.  The  salt-water  had  kept  tliem 
closed. 


38  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 

DARTREY 

Cuts? 

GILRUTH 

(Nods) 

Her  head.     And  her  face.     Cuts.     Blood  after  all  that  time. 

(He  clenches  and  unclenches  his  hands  nervously  and  furiously.  He  gets  up 
slowly,  walks  over  to  the  fireplace,  shivers,  then  braces  himself  trying  to  shake 
off  the  horror  of  his  thoughts.  Then  he  begins  to  speak  brokenly  and  trem- 
blingly endeavoring  to  moisten  his  lips  with  a  dry  tongue) 

Never  saw  anything  to  equal  the  kindness  of  those  poor  peasants. 
They  gave  the  clothes  from  their  bodies;  the  blankets  from 
their  beds.  And  took  nothing.  Not  a  thing.  "We're  all  in 
this,"  they  said.  "We're  doing  our  best,  it's  little  enough." 
That's  what  they  said.  Pretty  fine  the  Irish  of  Queenstown. 
Eh? 

(Dartrey  nods.    He  does  not  trust  himself  to  speak) 

A  monument.  That's  what  the  Irish  peasants  of  Queenstown 
should  have.  A  monument.  Never  slept,  some  of  them. 
Wrapped  the  soaking  women  in  their  shawls — and  the  little 
children.  Took  off  their  wet  things  and  gave  them  dry,  warm 
ones.  Fed  them  with  broths  they  cooked  themselves.  Spent 
their  poor  savings  on  brandy  for  them.  Stripped  the  clothes 
off  their  own  backs  for  them  to  travel  in  when  they  were  well 
enough  to  go.  And  wouldn't  take  a  thing.  Great  people  the 
Irish  of  Queenstown.  Nothing  much  the  matter  with  them. 
A  monument.     That's  what  they  should  have.     And  poetry. 

{Thinks  for  a  while,  then  goes  on) 

Laid  out  the  bodies  too;  just  as  reverently  as  if  they  were  their  own 
people.     They  laid  her  out.     And  prayed  over  her.     And 

watched  with  me  over  her  until  she  was  put  into  the  . 

Such  a  tiny  little  shell  it  was,  too.     She  had  no  father  or 
mother  or  brothers  or  sisters.     I  was  all  she  had.     That's 


THE  DRAMA—MANNERS  39 

why  I  buried  her  here.     Kensal  Green.     She'll  rest  easy 
there. 

(He  ualks  about  distractedly.    Suddenly  he  stops  and  with  his  hands  extended 
upwards  as  if  in  prayer,  he  cries) 

Out  of  my  depths  I  cry  to  Thee.  I  call  on  you  to  curse  them. 
Curse  the  Prussian  brutes  made  in  Your  likeness,  but  with 
hearts  as  the  lowest  of  beasts.  Curse  them.  May  their 
hopes  wither.  May  everytliing  they  set  their  hearts  on  rot. 
Send  them  pestilence,  disease  and  every  foul  torture  they 
have  visited  on  Your  people.  Send  the  Angel  of  Death  to  rid 
the  earth  of  them.  May  their  souls  bum  in  hell  for  all 
eternity 
{Quickly  to  Dartrey) 

and  if  there  is  a  god  they  will.  But  is  there  a  good  God  that 
such  things  can  be  and  yet  no  sign  from  Him?  Listen.  I 
didn't  believe  in  war.  I  reasoned  against  it.  I  shouted  for 
Peace.  And  thousands  of  cravens  like  me.  I  thought  God 
was  using  this  universal  slaughter  for  a  purpose.  Wlien  His 
end  was  accomplished  He  would  cry  to  the  warring  peoples 
"Stop!"  It  was  His  will,  I  thought,  that  out  of  much  evil 
might  come  permanent  good.  That  was  my  faith.  It  lias 
gone.  How  can  there  be  a  good  God  to  look  down  on  His 
people  tortured  and  maimed  and  butchered?  The  women, 
whose  lives  were  devoted  to  Him,  defiled.  His  temples 
looted,  filled  with  the  filtli  of  the  soldiery,  and  then  destroyed. 
And  yet  no  sign.  Oh,  no.  My  faith  is  gone.  Now  I  want 
to  murder  and  torture  and  massacre  tlie  foul  brutes.  .  .  .  I'm 
going  out,  Dartrey.  In  any  way.  Just  a  private.  I'll  dig, 
carry  my  load,  eat  their  rations.  Vermin:  mud:  ache  in  the 
cold  and  scorch  in  the  heat.  I  will  welcome  it.  Anything  to 
stop  the  gnawing  here,  and  the  throbbing  here. 


40  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

(Beating  at  his  head  and  heart) 

Anything  to  find  vent  for  my  hatred. 

{Moving  restlessly  about) 

I'm  going  through  Ireland  first.  Every  town  and  village.  It's 
our  work  now.  It's  Irislimen's  work.  All  the  Catholics  will 
be  in  now.  No  more  "conscientious-objecting."  They  can't. 
It's  a  war  on  women  and  little  children.  All  right.  No  Irish- 
Catholic  will  rest  easy;  eat,  sleep  and  go  his  days  round  after 
this.  The  call  has  gone  out.  America  too.  She'll  come  in. 
You  watch.  She  can't  stay  out.  She's  founded  on  Liberty. 
She'll  fight  for  it.  You  see.  It's  clean  against  unclean. 
Red  blood  against  black  filth.     Carrion.     Beasts.     Swine. 

(Drops   into   a   chair  mumbling  incoherently.     Takes  a  long  breath;   looks  at 
Darirey) 

I'm  selling  out  everything  back  home. 

DARTRET 
Why? 

GILRUTH 
I'm  not  going  back.     I'm  bringing  everything  over  here.     Eng- 
land, France,  Russia,  Belgium,  Serbia — they  can  have  it.     All 
of  it.     They've  suffered.     Only  now  do  I  know  how  much. 
Only  now. 

(Fiercely) 

I  want  to  tear  them — tear  them  as  they've  torn  me.  As  they 
mangled  her. 

(Grits  his  teeth  and  claws  with  his  fingers) 

Tear  them — that's  what  I  want  to  do.  May  I  live  to  do  it.  May 
the  war  never  end  until  every  dirty  Prussian  is  rotting  in  his 
grave.  Then  a  quick  end  for  me,  too.  I've  nothing  now. 
Nothing. 

(Gets  up  again  wearily  and  dejectedly;  all  the  blazing  passion  burnt  out  mo- 
mentarily) 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS  41 

This  was  to  have  been  my  wedding-day;  our  wedding-day.  Now 
she's  lying  there,  done  to  deatli  by  Huns.  A  few  days  ago 
all  youlli  and  freshness  and  courage  and  love.  Lying  dis- 
figured in  her  little  coffin.  I  know  what  you  meant  now  by 
wanting  to  go  back  for  the  third  time.  I  couldn't  understand 
it  the  other  day.  It  seemed  that  every  one  should  hate  war. 
But  you've  seen  them.  You  know  them.  And  you  want  to 
destroy  them.  That's  it.  Destroy.  .  .  .  The  call  is  all  over 
the  world  by  now.  Civilization  will  be  in  arms.  ...  To  hell 
with  your  Pacifists.  It's  another  name  for  cowards.  They'd 
lose  those  nearest  them:  the  honor  of  their  women;  tlie  liberty 
of  their  people — and  never  strike  a  blow.  To  hell  with  them. 
It's  where  they  should  be.  I  was  one  of  them.  No  more. 
Wherever  I  meet  them  I'll  spit  in  their  faces.  They  disgrace 
the  women  tliey  were  bom  of;  tlie  country  they  claim.  .  .  . 
To  hell  with  them. 

DARTREY 
(Tries  to  soothe  him) 

You  must  try  and  get  some  grip  on  yourself. 

GILRUTH 
(His  fingers  ceaselessly  locking  and  unlocking) 

I'll  be  all  right.     It's  a  relief  to  talk  to  you. 
(Sees  the  preparations  for  Dartrey's  departure) 

Are  you  off? 

DARTREY 

Yes.     To-night. 

GILRUTH 

I  envy  you  now.  I  wish  I  were  going.  But  I  will  soon.  Ireland 
first.  I  must  have  my  say  there.  What  will  the  "Sinn  Fein- 
ers"  say  to  the  Lusitania  murder?     I  want  to  meet  some  of 


42  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

them.  What  are  our  wrongs  of  generations  to  this  horror? 
All  humanity  is  at  stake  here.  I'll  talk  to  them.  I  must. 
They'll  have  to  do  something  now  or  go  down  branded  through 
the  generations  as  Pro-German.  Can  a  man  have  a  worse 
epitaph?  No  decent  Irishman  will  bear  that;  every  loyal 
Irishman  must  loathe  them.  .  .  .  I'll  talk  to  them — soul  to 
soul.  .  .  .  Sorry,  Dartrey.  You  have  your  own  sorrow. 
.  .  .  Good  of  you  to  put  up  with  me.     Now  I'll  go.  .  .  . 

{Goes  to  door,  stops,  takes  out  wallet) 

Just  one  thing.     If  it  won't  bother  you. 

(Tapping  some  papers) 

I've  mentioned  you  here.  ...  If  I  don't  come  through — see  to  a 
few  things  for  me.     Will  you?     They're  not  much.     Will 


you? 


Of  course  I  will. 


DARTREY 


GILRUTH 

(Simply) 

Thank  you.     You've  always  been  decent  to  me.  .  .  .  Dartrey. 
To-day!     You  would  have  been  my  best  man — and  she's — 

DARTREY 

(Shaking  him  by  the  shoulders) 

Come,  my  man.     Pull  up. 

GILRUTH 

I  will.     I'll  be  all  right.     In  a  little  while  I'll  be  along  out  there. 
I  hope  I  serve  under  you. 

(Crips  his  hand) 

Good-by. 

DARTREY 

Keep  in  touch  with  me. 


THE  DRAMA— MANNERS 


43 


GILRUTH 


All  right. 


(Passes  out,  opens  and  closes  the  outer  door  behind  him  and  disappears  in  the 
street.    Dartrey  resumes  his  preparations) 


THE   END   OF   THE    PLAY 


44  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

TO  FRANCE 

FOR  THE  third  time  in  history  it  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  France 
to  stem  the  Barbarian  tide.  Once  before  upon  the  Mame, 
jEtius  with  a  Gallic  Army  stopped  the  Hun  under  Attila.  Three 
hundred  years  later  Charles  Martel  at  Tours  saved  Europe  from 
becoming  Saracen,  just  as  in  September,  1914,  more  than  eleven 
centuries  later.  General  Joffre  with  the  citizen  soldiery  of  France 
upon  that  same  Mame  saved  Europe  from  die  heel  of  the  Prus- 
sianized Teuton,  the  reign  of  brute  force  and  the  religion  of  the 
Moloch  State.  These  were  among  the  world's  "check  battles." 
Yet  the  flood  of  barbarism  was  only  checked  at  the  Mame,  not 
broken;  again  the  flood  arose  and  pressed  on  to  be  stopped  once 
more  at  Verdun — the  Gateway  of  France — in  the  greatest  of  human 
conflicts  yet  seen. 

America  was  a  spectator,  but  not  an  indifi^erent  one.  Once  again 
mere  momentary  material  interest  counseled  abstention;  precedent 
was  invoked  to  justify  isolation  and  indiff^erence.  The  timid,  the 
ignorant,  the  disloyal,  those  to  whom  physical  life  was  more  pre- 
cious than  the  dictates  of  conscience,  counseled  "peace  and  pros- 
perity." Many  began  to  wonder  if  America  had  a  soul  and  was 
indeed  worth  saving  as  the  policy  of  "Terrorism"  on  land  followed 
that  of  "Terrorism"  on  the  high  seas  seemed  to  leave  us  indiff"erent. 
Yet  the  same  spirit,  as  of  yore,  dominated  the  nation.  The  people 
of  America  at  last  understood  that  it  was  not  any  particular  rule  of 
law,  but  the  existence  of  law  itself,  divine  and  human,  that  was 
involved  in  the  Fate  of  France. 

The  task  confronting  this  nation  is  a  stupendous  one.  Let  there 
be  no  illusion.  The  war  may  well  be  long  and  painful,  beyond 
expression,  but  the  past  few  weeks  have  taught  us  that  the  nation 


If' 


i 


MAilSlIAL  JUFl-liE 

/'Vom  ilie  Original  Driiwitig 


TRANCE— COVDERT  45 

will  bear  the  strain  with  that  same  courage  and  enduring  persever- 
ance as  in  the  past,  following  the  example  of  the  Fathers  and  in- 
spired by  the  traditions  of  die  American  Revolution,  this  people 
will  stand  like  a  stone  wall  with  our  splendid  Ally  of  old  and  of 
to-day — France — and  from  Great  Britain  from  whence  came  our 
institutions,  to  end  forever  the  HohenzoUem  system  of  blood  and 
iron  so  that  a  better  future  may  come  to  Europe  and  America,  one 
in  which  peace  may  be  builded  upon  a  guaranty  of  justice  and  law 
— a  world  order  in  which  fundamental  moral  postulates  and 
human  rights  may  never  again  be  set  at  defiance  at  the  behest  of 
mere  material  force,  however  scientifically  organized. 

To  France  has  fallen  the  honor  of  checking,  to  Britain  the  bur- 
den of  containing  by  sea  and  land,  to  America  now  comes  the  duty 
of  finally  overthrowing  that  common  enemy  of  democratic  insti- 
tutions and  ordered  liberty,  the  foe  whose  morality  knows  no  ruth, 
whose  philosopliy  admits  no  check  upon  tlie  "will  to  power," 

In  France  the  traveler  passing  along  the  roads  to  the  northeast 
leading  to  Lorraine  may  see  at  every  cross-road  a  great  index  finger 
pointing  to  the  single  word  VERDUN.  To  many  thousands,  nay, 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  men  passing  over  these  roads  in  the  five 
fateful  months  of  critical  battle,  these  six  letters  spelled  mutilation 
and  death,  yet  the  word  was  an  inspiration  to  heroism  in  everj- 
home  of  France,  and  from  every  comer  of  the  land  men  followed 
that  great  index  finger  pointing,  as  it  did  indeed,  to  the  modern 
Calvary. 

To-day  at  every  cross-road  must  we  here  in  America  set  up  a 
great  index  hand  with  the  words  "TO  FRANCE."  To  France, 
land  of  suffering  humanity,  in  whose  devastated  fields  again  must 
be  saved  the  same  principles  for  which  Americans  fought  at  Bun- 
ker Hill,  at  Saratoga,  at  Yorktown,  at  Gettysburg  and  in  the  Wilder- 
ness; to  France,  where  the  fate  of  the  world  is  still  pending;  to 


46  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

France,  which  has  again  checked  the  Huns  of  the  modem  world  as 
it  did  those  of  the  ancient;  to  France,  the  manhood  of  this  nation 
must  now  be  directed,  to  save  the  heritage  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion and  the  Civil  War,  to  preserve  the  dearest  conquests  of  the 
Christian  civilization;  to  France  will  our  men  go  by  the  thousands, 
hundreds  of  tliousands,  if  need  be  by  the  million,  to  prove  that  the 
soul  of  America  is  more  completely  intent  upon  battling  for  the 
right  than  ever  before,  intent  that  slavery  in  another  but  far  subtler 
and  more  dangerous  form  may  not  prevail  upon  the  earth. 

It  was  Washington  who  gave  as  the  watchword  of  the  day  in  those 
soul-trying  hours  that  preceded  the  birth  of  our  nation  the  immortal 
and  prophetic  phrase,  "America  and  France — United  Forever." 


FRANCE— ANATOLE  FRANCE  47 


CE  QUE  DISENT  NOS  MORTS 

IL  n'est  pas  besoin  de  rappeler  le  souvenir  de  ceux  qui  nous 
f  urent  chers  et  ne  sont  plus,  a  notre  peuple  qui  passe,  non  sans 
raison,  pour  celebrer  avec  ferveur  le  culte  des  morts.  N'est-ce 
pas  en  France,  au  dix-neuvieme  siecle,  qu'est  nee  cette  philosophie 
qui  met  au  rang  des  premiers  devoirs  de  I'homme  la  reconnais- 
sance envers  les  generations  qui  nous  ont  precedes  dans  la  tombe, 
en  nous  laissant  le  fruit  de  leurs  pensees  et  de  leurs  travaux? 
Certes  le  religion  des  ancetres  est  de  tous  les  temps  et  de  tous  les 
climats;  elle  est  meme  chez  certains  peuples  orientaux  la  religion 
unique;  mais  en  quel  pays  les  liens  entre  les  morts  et  les  vivants 
sont-ils  plus  forts  qu'en  France,  les  deuils  plus  solennels  a  la  fois 
et  plus  intimes?  Chez  nous,  d'ordinaire,  les  defunts  aimes  et 
veneres  ne  quittent  pas  tout  entiers  le  foyer  ou  ils  vecu;  ils  y 
respirent  dans  le  coeur  de  ceux  qui  demeurent;  ils  y  sont  imites, 
consultes,  ecoutes. 

Je  me  rappelle  trop  confusement  pour  en  faire  usage  ici  une 

scene  tres  belle  d'une  vieille  chanson  de  geste,  Girart  de  Rous- 

sillon,  je  crois,  ou  Ton  voit  une  fille  de  roi  contempler,  la  nuit, 

apres  une  bataille,  la  plaine  ou  gisent  les  guerriers  innombrables 

tomber   pour   sa   querelle.     "Elle   eut   voulu,   dit   le   poete,   les 

embrasscr  tous."     Et,  du  fond  de  mes  tres  lointains  souvenirs, 

cette  royale  fille  m'apparait  comme  une  image  de  notre  France 

pleurant  aujourd'hui  la  fleur  de  sa  race  abondamment  moissonnee. 

Aussi  n'est-ce  pas  pour  exhorter  mes  concitoyens  a  commemorer 

en  ce  jour  nos  morts  selon  un  usage  immemorial,  que  j'ecris  ces 

lignes,  mais  pour  honorer  avec  notre  peuple  tout  entier  ceux  qui 

lui   ont  sacrifie  leur  vie  et  pour  mediter  la  \eqon  qu'ils   nous 

donnent  du  fond  de  leur  demeures  profondes. 


48  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Et  tout  d'abord,  a  la  memoire  des  notres,  associons  pieusement 
la  memoire  des  braves  qui  ont  verse  leur  sang  sous  tous  les 
etendards  de  FAUiance,  depuis  les  canaux  de  I'Yser  jusqu'aux  rives 
de  la  Vistule,  depuis  les  montagnes  du  Frioul  jusqu'aux  defiles  de 
la  Morava,  et  sur  les  vastes  mers. 

Puis,  offrons  les  fleurs  les  plus  ardentes  et  les  plus  nobles  palmes 
aux  innocentes  victimes  d'une  atroce  cruaute,  aux  femmes,  aux 
entants  martyrs,  a  cette  jeune  infirmiere  anglaise,  coupable  seule- 
ment  de  generosite  et  dont  I'assassinat  a  souleve  d'indignation 
tout  I'univers. 

Et  nos  morts,  nos  morts  bien  aimes!  Que  la  patrie  reconnais- 
sante  ouvre  assex  grand  son  coeur  pour  les  contenir  tous,  les  plus 
humbles  comme  les  plus  illustres,  les  heros  tombes  avec  gloire  a 
qui  Ton  prepare  des  monuments  de  marbre  et  de  bronze  et  qui 
vivront  dans  I'histoire,  et  les  simples  qui  rendirent  leur  dernier 
souffle  en  pensant  au  champ  paternal. 

Que  tous  ceux  dont  le  sang  coula  pour  la  patrie  soient  benis! 
lis  n'ont  pas  fait  en  vain  le  sacrifice  de  leur  vie.  Glorieusement 
frappes  en  Artois,  en  Champagne,  en  Argonne,  ils  ont  arrete 
I'envahisseur  qui  n'a  pu  faire  un  pas  de  plus  en  avant  sur  la  terre 
sacree  qui  les  recouvre.  Quelques-uns  les  pleurent,  tous  les  ad- 
mirent,  plus  d'un  les  envie.  Ecoutons  les.  Tendons  I'oreille:  ils 
parlent.  Penchons-nous  sur  cette  terre  bouleversee  par  la  mitraille 
oil  beaucoup  d'entre  eux  dorment  dans  leurs  vetements  ensanglan- 
tes.  Agenouillons-nous  dans  le  cimetiere,  au  bords  des  tombes 
fleuries  de  ceux  qui  sont  revenus  dans  le  doux  pays,  et  la,  entendons 
le  souffle  imperceptible  et  puissant  qu'ils  melent,  la  nuit,  au  mur- 
mure  du  vent  et  au  bruissement  des  feuilles  qui  tombent.  Ef- 
forcons-nous  de  comprendre  leur  parole  sainte.     Ils  disent: 

Freres,  vivez,  combattez,  achevez  notre  ouvrage.  Apportez  la 
victoire  et  la  paix  a  nos  ombres  consolees.     Chassez  I'etranger  qui 


FRANCE— ANATOLE  FRANCE  49 

a  deja  recule  devant  nous,  et  ramenez  vos  charrues  dans  les  champs 
que  nous  avons  imbibes  de  notre  sang. 

Ainsi  parlent  nos  morts.     Et  ils  disent  encore: 

Francajs,  aimez-vous  les  uns  les  autres  d'un  amour  fratemel  et, 
pour  prevaloir  contra  I'ennemi,  mettez  en  commun  vos  biens  et 
vos  pensees.  Que  parmi  vous  les  plus  grands  et  les  plus  forts 
soient  les  serviteurs  des  faibles.  Ne  marchandez  pas  plus  vos 
richesses  que  votre  sang  a  la  patrie.  Soyez  tons  egaux  par  la  bonne 
volonte.     Vous  le  devez  a  vos  morts. 

Vous  nous  devez  d'assurer,  a  notre  exemple,  par  le  sacrifice  de 
vous-memes,  le  trioraphe  de  la  plus  sainte  des  causes.  Freres, 
pour  payer  votre  dette  envers  nous,  11  vous  faut  vaincre,  et  il  vous 
f aut  f aire  plus  encore :  il  vous  faut  meriter  de  vaincre. 

Nos  morts  nous  ordonnent  de  vivre  et  de  combattre  en  citoyens 
d'un  peuple  libre,  de  marcher  resolument  dans  I'ouragan  de  fer 
vers  la  paix  qui  se  levera  comme  une  belle  aurore  sur  I'Europe 
affranchie  des  menaces  de  ses  tyrans,  et  verra  renaitre,  faibles  et 
timides  encore,  la  justice  et  l'humanite  etouffees  par  le  crime 
de  I'Allemagne. 

Voila  ce  qu'inspirent  nos  morts  a  un  Fran^ais  que  le  detache- 
ment  des  vanites  et  le  progres  de  I'age  rapprochent  d'eux. 


v^^/pv4si^-&>yra^ 


50  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

WHAT  OUR  DEAD  SAY  TO  US 

THERE  is  no  need  to  recall  to  tlie  minds  of  our  people  those 
who  were  dear  to  us  and  have  passed  hence,  for  they  are 
celebrating — and  with  good  cause — the  anniversaries  of  their 
deaths.  Was  it  not  in  France,  in  the  19th  century,  that  there  was 
bom  that  philosophy  which  placed  in  the  rank  of  the  foremost 
duties  of  mankind  gratitude  towards  those  generations  who  have 
preceded  us  to  the  grave,  and  have  left  us  the  fruits  of  their 
thoughts  and  of  their  labors?  Indeed,  ancestral  worship  prevails 
in  all  climes  and  at  all  periods;  in  fact,  with  certain  Oriental  na- 
tions it  is  the  only  religion.  But  in  what  coimtry  is  the  link  be- 
tween the  dead  and  the  living  so  strong  as  it  is  in  France — the  rites 
at  the  same  time  so  solemn  and  so  intimate?  With  us,  as  a  rule, 
our  dead,  beloved  and  venerated,  never  entirely  depart  from  the 
homes  in  which  they  have  dwelt,  but  take  up  their  abode  in  the 
hearts  of  tlie  living  who  imitate  them,  consult  them,  pay  heed  to 
them. 

I  recollect,  too  vaguely  to  make  full  use  of  it  here,  a  beautiful 
scene  from  the  heroic  song,  "Girart  de  Roussillon,"  I  think  it  is, 
where  one  is  showTi  a  king's  daughter,  one  night  after  a  battle, 
gazing  across  the  battlefield  where  lay  the  innumerable  warriors 
who  had  fallen  in  the  fight.  "She  felt  a  desire,"  said  the  poet,  "to 
embrace  them  all."  And  from  the  depths  of  my  far-away  mem- 
ories this  apparition  of  the  daughter  of  a  royal  house  arises  before 
me  as  an  image  of  our  France  to-day,  weeping  for  the  flower  of  our 
race  so  abundantly  cut  down. 

My  object  in  writing  these  lines  is  not  to  exhort  my  fellow-citi- 
zens to  commemorate  to-day  our  noble  dead,  according  to  im- 
memorial custom,  but  to  honor  as  a  united  people  those  who  have 


FRANCE— ANATOLE  FRANCE  51 

sacrificed  their  lives  for  their  country  and  to  meditate  upon  the 
lesson  that  comes  to  us  from  their  scattered  burial  places. 

First,  witli  tlie  memory  of  our  own,  let  us  with  all  piety  asso- 
ciate the  memory  of  those  brave  ones  who  have  shed  their  blood 
under  all  the  Allies'  standards,  from  the  streams  of  the  Yser  to 
the  banks  of  the  Vistule;  from  the  moxmtains  of  Frioul  to  the 
defiles  of  Morava,  and  on  the  vast  seas. 

Then,  let  us  offer  our  choicest  flowers  of  memory  to  the  innocent 
victims  of  an  atrocious  cruelty,  to  the  women,  to  tlie  child  mar- 
tyrs, to  that  young  English  nurse,  guilty  only  of  generosity, 
whose  assassination  aroused  the  indignation  of  the  entire  imi- 
verse. 

And  our  dead,  our  beloved  dead !  May  a  grateful  country  open 
wide  enough  its  great  heart  to  contain  them  all,  the  humblest  as  well 
as  the  most  illustrious,  the  heroes  fallen  with  glory  to  whom  have 
been  erected  monuments  of  bronze  and  marble,  who  will  live  in 
history,  and  those  simple  ones  who  drew  their  last  breath  thinking 
of  the  green  fields  of  home. 

Blessed  be  all  those  whose  blood  has  been  shed  for  their  country! 
Not  in  vain  have  they  sacrificed  their  lives.  At  the  glorious  en- 
counter at  Artois,  Champagne,  and  Argonne  they  repulsed  the 
invader  who  could  not  advance  one  step  farther  on  the  ground 
made  sacred  by  their  fallen  bodies.  Some  weep  for  them,  all  ad- 
mire them,  more  than  one  envies  them.  Let  us  listen  to  them. 
They  speak.  Let  us  make  every  effort  to  hear  them.  Let  us 
prostrate  ourselves  on  this  ground,  torn  up  by  shot  and  shell,  where 
many  of  them  sleep  in  their  blood-dyed  garments.  Let  us  kneel 
in  the  cemetery  at  the  foot  of  the  flower-strewn  graves  of  those  who 
were  brought  back  to  their  country,  and  there  listen  to  the  whispers, 
scarcely  audible  but  powerful,  which  mingle  through  the  night  with 
the  murmur  of  the  breeze  and  the  rustle  of  the  falling  leaves.     Let 


52  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

us  make  every  effort  to  understand  their  inspired  words.     They 
«ay: 

BROTHERS,  live,  fight,  accomplish  our  work.  Win  victory  and 
peace  for  the  sake  of  your  dead.  Drive  out  the  intruder  who  has 
already  retreated  before  us,  and  bring  back  your  plows  into  the 
fields  now  saturated  with  our  blood. 

Thus  speak  our  dead.     And  they  say,  further: 

FRENCHMEN,  love  one  another  with  brotherly  love,  and,  in 
order  that  you  may  prevail  against  the  enemy,  put  into  common 
use  your  possessions  and  your  ideas.  Let  the  greatest  and  strong- 
est among  you  serve  the  weak.  Be  as  willing  to  give  your  money 
as  your  blood  for  your  country.  Be  willing  that  perfect  equality 
shall  exist  amongst  you.  You  owe  this  to  your  dead.  Because 
of  our  example,  you  owe  us  the  assurance  that  by  your  self-sacrifice 
ours  will  be  the  triumph  in  this  holiest  of  all  causes.  Brothers,  in 
order  to  pay  your  debt  to  us  you  must  conquer,  and  you  must  do 
still  more :  you  must  deserve  to  conquer. 

Our  dead  demand  that  we  shall  live  and  fight  as  citizens  of  a 
free  country ;  that  we  shall  march  resolutely  through  the  hurricane 
of  steel  toward  Peace,  which  shall  arise  like  a  beautiful  aurora  over 
Europe  freed  from  the  menace  of  her  tyrants,  and  shall  see  reborn, 
though  weak  and  timid,  Justice  and  Himianity,  for  the  time  being 
crushed  through  the  crime  of  Germany. 

Thus  are  the  French,  detached  from  the  vanities  and  progress  of 
the  age,  drawn  nearer  to  our  dead  and  inspired  by  them. 

Anatole  France 

Translation  by  E.  M.  Pope. 


/ 


,*.^ 


1  r 


MEMORY' 

By  ./.  ./.  Vdii  I'Mien 
From  the  Original  Draunng 


FRANCE— HUGHES  53 

THE  TRANSPORTS 

Poetical  Version  of  Sully  Prud'homme's  "Les  Berceaux" 

L  HE  long  tide  lifts  each  mighty  boat 

Asleep  and  nodding  at  the  dock, 
Of  the  little  cradles  they  take  no  note 

Which  the  tender-hearted  mothers  rock. 

But  time  brings  round  the  Day  of  Good-Byes 
For  it's  women's  fate  to  weep  and  endure, 

While  curious  men  attempt  the  skies 
And  follow  wherever  horizons  lure. 

Yet  the  mighty  boats  on  that  morning  tide 

When  they  flee  away  from  the  dwindling  lands 

Will  feel  the  clutch  of  mother  hands 
And  the  soul  of  the  far-off  cradleside. 


CL    -•  w^^-^^-^^/^^-^-r-- 


54  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

LA  PRIERE  DU  POILU 

(Written  in  the  Trenches,  before  Verdun,  December,  1915) 

ET  alors,  le  poilu,  levant  la  tete  derriere  son  parapet,  se  mit, 
dans  la  nuit  froide  de  decembre,  a  fixer  une  etoile  qui  brillait 
au  ciel  d'un  feu  etrange.  Son  cerveau  commenQa  a  remuer  de 
loitaines  pensees;  son  coeur  se  fit  plus  leger,  comme  s'il  voulait 
monter  vers  I'astre;  ses  levres  fremirent  doucement  pour  laisser 
passer  une  priere: 

"O  Etoile,  murmura-t-il,  je  n'ai  pas  besoin  de  ta  lueur,  car  je 
connais  ma  route!  Elle  a  pu  rae  paraitre  sombre  au  debut,  quand 
mes  yeux  n'etaient  point  accoutumes  a  ses  rudes  contours;  mais, 
depuis  un  an,  elle  est  pour  moi  eblouissante  de  clarte.  On  a  beau 
me  I'allonger  chaque  jour,  on  n'arrivera  pas  a  me  I'obscurcir.  On 
a  beau  y  multiplier  les  ronces  et  les  pierres,  apres  lesquelles  je 
laisse  de  ma  chair  et  de  mon  sang,  on  n'arrivera  pas  a  m'y  arreter. 
Je  sais  que  j'irai  jusqu'au  bout.  Je  vois  devant  moi  la  victoire. 
.  .  .  Mais,  la-bas,  derriere  moi,  il  y  a  une  foule  qui  parfois 
s'inquiete  dans  les  tenebres,  Au  moment  oii  la  vieille  annee  va 
toumer  sur  ses  gonds  vermoulus,  elle  repasse  en  son  esprit  agite 
les  evenements  qui  la  marquerent.  Elle  songe  aux  peuplades  bar- 
bares  d'Orient  que  le  Germain  a  entrainees  derriere  son  char: 
Turcs  el  Bulgares,  Kurdes  et  Malissores,  et  elle  oublie  les  grandes 
nations  qui  s'enrolerent  sous  la  banniere  de  la  civilisation.  Elle 
songe  aux  territoires  que  foule  la  lourde  botte  tudesque,  et  elle 
oublie  les  empires  que  nous  detenons  en  gages:  ici,  I'ouest  et  Test 
Africains,  grands  comme  quatre  fois  toute  I'Allemagne,  avec  leurs 
5000  kilometres  de  voies  ferrees  et  leurs  mines  de  diamants;  la, 


FRANCE— LAUZANNE  55 

ces  lies  d'Oceanie  et  cette  forteresse  d'Asie:  Kiao-Tcheou,  que  le 
kaiser  avail  proclame  la  perle  de  ses  colonies.  Elle  s'alarme  de 
toutes  les  pailles  que,  dans  sa  course  desordonnee,  ramasse  I'AUe- 
magne  et  ne  voit  pas  les  poutres  enormes  qui  soutiennent  la  France. 
.  .  .  Nous  autres,  qui  sommes  la  poutre,  nous  savons  mieux,  nous 
voyons  mieux. 

"0  Etoile,  apprends  a  ceux  qui  ne  sont  pas  dans  la  tranchee 
la  confiance!  .  .  . 

"Le  passe  est  la  qui  enseigne  I'avenir.  Qiaque  fois  qu'  une 
armee  quelconquc,  prise  de  la  folie  de  I'espace,  a  voulu  s'  enf oncer 
dans  les  terres  lointaines  et  abandonner  le  berceau  ou  elle  puisait 
sa  force  et  ses  vivres,  elle  est  morte  de  langueur  et  d'epuisement, 
elle  s'est  effritee  comme  la  pierre  qu'on  arrache  de  Tassemblage 
solide  des  maisons,  elle  n'est  pas  plus  revenue  que  ne  reviennent 
les  grains  de  poussiere  qu'emporte  le  vent.  .  .  .  Voici  plus  d'un 
siecle  que  des  legions  ont  tente  la  conquete  de  I'Egypte  et  ces 
legions  etaient  les  plus  magnifiques  du  monde.  EUes  avaient  des 
chefs  qui  s'appelaient  Desaix,  Kleber  et  Bonaparte;  mais  elles 
n'avaient  pas  la  maitrise  de  la  mer  et  rien  ne  revint  des  sables 
brulants  du  desert.  Voici  un  siecle  aussi  qu'une  armee  la  plus 
formidable  d'Europe,  conduite  par  le  plus  fameux  conquerant 
qu'ait  connu  I'univers,  tenta  de  submerger  I'immense  empire  russe; 
mais  I'empire  etait  trop  grand  pour  la  grande  armee  et  rien  ne 
revint  des  solitudes  glacees  de  la  steppe.  .  .  .  Puisse,  de  meme, 
aller  loin,  toujours  plus  loin,  I'armee  allemande  deja  decimee, 
halctante,  epuisee!  Puisse-t-elle  pousser  jusqu'au  Tigre,  jusqu'a 
I'Euphrate,  jusqu'a  I'lnde!   .   .  . 

"O  Etoile,  apprends  a  ceux  qui  ne  sont  pas  dans  la  tranchee, 
I'Histoire!  .  .  . 

"Certes  ces  nuits  d'hiver  sont  longues.     Et  tous  tes  scintille- 


56  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ments,  Etoile,  ne  valent  pas  le  sourire  de  la  femme  aimee  au  logis. 
Cependant,  tu  as  quelque  chose  de  la  femme,  puisque  tant 
d'hommes  te  suivent  aveuglement:  tu  en  as  la  grace  et  Fecial;  et 
toi,  au  moins,  nul  couturier  boche  ne  t'habilla  jamais!  .  .  .  Tu 
possedes  meme  des  vertus  que  ne  possede  pas  toujours  la  femme: 
tu  as  la  patience  et  le  calme.  Les  nuages  ont  beau  s'interposer 
entre  tes  adorateurs  et  toi,  I'aurore  a  beau  chaque  matin  eteindre 
tes  feux,  tu  t'inclines  devant  la  loi  supreme  de  la  nature  et  nulle 
revolte  ne  vint  jamais  de  toi.  .  .  .  Tache  d'inspirer  ta  soumission 
a  tes  soeurs  terrestres  qui,  dans  les  villes,  attendent  le  retour  des 
guerriers. 

"0  Etoile,  apprends  a  celles  qui  ne  sent  pas  dans  les  trancbees, 
la  Discipline!   .  .  . 

"Que  tous,  que  toutes  sachent  qu'il  y  a  quelque  chose  au-dessus 
du  Nombre,  au-dessus  de  la  Force,  au-dessus  meme  du  Courage: 
et  c'est  la  Perseverance.  ...  II  y  eut,  une  fois,  un  match  de  lutte 
qui  restera  a  jamais  celebre  dans  I'histoire  du  sport:  celui  de 
Sam  Mac  Vea  contre  Joe  Jeannette.  Le  premier,  trapu,  massif, 
tout  en  muscles:  im  colosse  noir  du  plus  beau  noir.  Le  second, 
plus  leger,  plus  harmonieux,  tout  en  nerf s :  un  metis  jaune  du  plus 
beau  cuivre.  Le  combat  fut  epique:  il  se  poursuivit  pendant 
quarantedeux  rounds  et  dura  trois  heures.  Au  troisieme  roimd, 
puis  au  septieme,  Sam  Mac  Vea  jetait  Joe  Jeannette  a  terre  et  sa 
victoire  ne  paraissait  plus  faire  de  doute.  Cependant,  Joe  Jean- 
nette peu  a  peu  revint  a  la  vie,  se  cramponna,  se  defendit,  vecut 
sur  ses  nerfs,  puis  attaqua  a  son  tour.  Au  quarante-deuxieme 
round,  epaule  contre  epaule,  haletants,  ruisselants  de  sang,  ils  se 
portaient  les  demiers  coups;  mais  le  ressort  de  Sam  Mac  Vea  etait 
casse  et,  devant  I'assurance  de  son  adversaire,  il  se  sentit  vaincu. 
.  .  .  Alors  on  vit  le  grand  geant  noir  lever  les  bras  et  s'ecrouler  en 
disant:  I  guess  I  can  not.  .  .  .   ( Je  crois  que  je  ne  peux  pas.  .  .  .) 


FRANCE— LAUZANNE  57 

Ainsi,  bientot  peut-etre,  verrons-nous  s'ecrouler  I'Allemagne,  en 
avouant:  "Je  ne  peux  pas.  .  .  ." 

"0  Etoile,  apprends  a  ceux  qui  ne  sont  pas  dans  la  tranchee,  la 
Boxe!  ..."  ,      y  ^ 


THE  PRAYER  OF  "LE  POILU" 

THEN  "Le  Poilu,"  standing,  in  the  cold  December  night,  be- 
hind the  breastworks,  fixed  his  gaze  upon  a  star  that  was 
shining  with  a  strange  brilliance  in  the  sky  above.  His  mind  was 
stirred  with  tlioughts  of  far  away  things.  His  heart  grew  lighter, 
as  though  it  yearned  to  reach  the  star;  his  lips  trembled,  and 
softly  he  breathed  a  prayer. 

"0  Star,"  he  murmured,  "I  need  not  thy  glimmering  light,  for 
I  know  my  way.  The  road  may  have  appeared  dark  at  first  when 
my  eyes  were  imaccustomed  to  its  sharp  turns,  but  for  a  year  it 
has  been  divinely  illumined  for  me.  Even  if  it  grow  longer  each 
day,  it  will  never  seem  dark  again.  Although  torn  by  thorns  and 
cut  by  stones,  nothing  can  make  me  turn  back.  I  know  that  I 
shall  go  on,  steadfast  to  the  end.  I  behold  before  me  Victory. 
.  .  .  But  there, — behind  me,  is  a  multitude  sorely  troubled  in  the 
darkness. 

"Now,  as  the  old  year  revolves  on  its  rusty  hinges,  those  who 
wait  at  home  live  over  in  their  troubled  hearts  the  events  which 
marked  its  passing.  They  diink  of  the  barbarous  hordes  of  the 
Orient  which  the  German  has  caught  in  his  train;  Turcs  and  Bul- 
garians, Kurds  and  Malissores,  and  they  overlook  the  great  na- 


58  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

tions  enrolled  under  the  banner  of  civilization.  They  brood  over 
lands  ground  under  the  iron  heel  of  the  Teuton  and  overlook  the 
Empires  that  we  hold;  here.  West  and  East  Africa,  four  times  as 
large  as  all  Germany,  with  their  thousands  of  miles  of  railroads 
and  their  diamond  mines;  there,  the  Islands  of  Oceania  and  the 
fortress  of  Asia:  Kiao-Tcheou,  which  the  Kaiser  has  proclaimed 
the  pearl  of  his  colonies.  They  are  alarmed  at  the  chaff  that 
Germany  gathers  in  her  lawless  course  and  they  do  not  see  the 
mighty  girders  that  stay  France.  But  we  who  are  the  girders,  we 
know  better,  we  see  farther. 

"0  Star,  teach  those  who  are  not  in  the  trenches.  .  .  .  Confi- 
dence ! 

"By  the  light  of  the  past  we  behold  the  future.  Whenever  an 
army,  seized  with  the  frenzy  of  conquest,  has  forced  its  way  into 
a  far  land,  abandoning  the  cradle  whence  it  drew  its  life  and 
strength,  it  has  wasted  away,  it  has  perished  from  utter  exhaustion. 
Like  stones  loosened  from  a  solid  wall,  it  has  disintegrated.  Like 
the  grain  of  dust  which  the  wind  has  blown  away,  it  has  vanished 
never  to  return. 

"More  than  a  century  ago  legions  attempted  the  conquest  of 
Egypt.  They  were  the  most  magnificent  in  the  world.  Their 
chiefs  bore  the  names  of  Desaix,  Kleber  and  Bonaparte.  But  they 
had  not  the  mastery  of  the  seas,  and  returned  not  from  the  burning 
sands  of  the  desert.  .  .  .  Think  also  of  the  time  when  die  most 
formidable  army  of  Europe,  led  by  the  greatest  conqueror  the 
world  has  ever  known,  tried  to  overwhelm  the  vast  Russian  Em- 
pire. But  the  empire  was  mightier  than  the  Great  Army,  and  it 
returned  not  from  the  glacial  solitude  of  the  steppes.  ...  So  let 
it  go  far,  ever  farther  on,  that  German  army  already  decimated, 
panting,  exhausted ;  let  it  reach  the  Tigris,  the  Euphrates,  even  far 
off  India!     It  will  not  return. 


FRANCE— LAUZANNE  59 

"0  Star,  teach  tliose  who  are  not  in  the  trenches.  .  .  .  History! 

"Truly  the  winter  nights  are  long,  and  all  thy  rays,  0  Star,  are 
not  worth  the  smile  of  the  loved  woman  at  the  hearth.  And  yet, 
thou  hast  something  of  woman,  since  so  many  men  follow  thee 
blindly:  thou  hast  her  grace  and  splendor.  Thou  hast  even  vir- 
tues that  women  do  not  possess,  for  thou  art  patient  and  calm. 
Clouds  come  between  thy  worshipers  and  thee,  dawn  each  morning 
extinguishes  thy  light,  yet  dost  thou  bow  before  the  supreme  law  of 
nature  without  a  murmur.  I  pray  thee  inspire  with  submission  tliy 
sisters  of  eardi;  teach  them  calmly  and  patiently  to  await  the 
return  of  their  warriors. 

"0  Star,  teach  those  who  are  not  in  the  trenches.  .  .  .  Disci- 
pline! 

"Would  that  all  men,  that  all  women  might  know  that  there  is 
somediing  above  Numbers,  above  Force,  above  even  Courage,  and 
that  is  Perseverance!  A  few  years  ago  there  was  a  boxing  match 
between  Sam  Mac  Vea  and  Joe  Jeannette  that  will  remain  famous 
in  the  history  of  sport.  Mac  Vea  was  a  heavy  weight,  strong,  all 
muscle:  a  veritable  black  giant.  Joe  Jeannette,  light,  well  pro- 
portioned, all  nerve:  a  mongrel  of  the  best  sort.  The  match  was 
epic.  It  went  on  for  forty-two  rounds  and  lasted  three  hours. 
At  the  third  round,  and  again  at  the  seventh,  Sam  Mac  Vea  threw 
Joe  Jeannette,  and  his  victory  seemed  assured.  But  little  by  little 
Joe  Jeannette  revived,  pulled  himself  together,  defended  himself, 
and  through  sheer  nerve,  began  to  attack.  At  the  forty-second 
round,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  panting,  dripping  wet  and  covered 
with  blood  they  struck  the  last  blow.  The  resources  of  Sam  Mac 
Vea  were  exhausted,  and  through  the  very  assurance  of  his  adver- 
sary he  felt  himself  beaten.  .  .  .  Suddenly  the  great  giant  lifted 
his  arms  and  gave  way,  saying:  'I  guess  I  cannot.'  .  .  , 


60  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"Thus  shall  we  soon  see  Germany  fall  to  the  earth,  saying  brok- 
enly, 'I  cannot.'  .  .  . 

"0  Star,  teach  those  who  are  not  in  the  trenches  ...  to  be 


game!' 


Stephane  Lauzanne 

Translation  by  Madame  Carlo  Polifeme. 


GREAT  BRITAIN— BECK  61 

A  TRIBUTE  TO  ENGLAND 

IT  MAY  be  said  of  this  war,  as  the  master  mind  of  all  the  ages 
said  of  adversity,  that  "its  uses  are  sweet,"  even  though  they 
be  as  a  precious  jewel  shining  in  the  head  of  an  ugly  and 
venomous  toad.  While  the  world-war  has  brutalized  men,  it  has 
as  a  moral  paradox  added  immeasurably  to  the  sum  of  human 
nobility.  Its  epic  grandeur  is  only  beginning  to  reveal  itself,  and 
in  it  the  human  soul  has  reached  the  high  water  mark  of  courage 
and  honor. 

The  war  has  enriched  our  language  with  many  new  expressions, 
but  none  more  beautiful  than  tliat  of  "Somewhere  in  France."  To 
all  noble  minds,  while  it  sounds  the  abysmal  depths  of  tragic 
suffering,  it  rises  to  the  sublimest  heights  of  heroic  self-sacrifice. 

The  world  has  paid  its  tribute  to  the  immortal  valor  of  France, 
and  no  words  could  pay  the  debt  of  appreciation  which  civiliza- 
tion owes  to  this  heroic  nation;  but  has  there  been  due  recognition 
of  the  equal  valor  and  the  like  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  which  has 
characterized  Great  Britain  in  this  titanic  struggle? 

When  the  frontier  of  Belgium  was  crossed,  England  staked  the 
existence  of  its  great  empire  upon  the  issue  of  the  uncertain  strug- 
gle. It  had,  as  figures  go  in  this  war,  only  a  small  army.  If  it 
had  been  niggardly  in  its  effort  to  defend  Belgium,  and  save  France 
in  her  hour  of  supreme  peril,  England  might  have  said,  without 
violating  any  express  obligation  arising  under  die  Entente  Cordiale, 
tliat  in  giving  its  incomparable  fleet  it  had  rendered  all  the  service 
that  its  political  interests,  according  to  former  standards  of  ex- 
pediency, justified;  and  it  could  have  been  plausibly  suggested 
that  the  ordinary  considerations  of  prudence  and  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation  required  it,  in  die  face  of  the  deadly  assault  by 


62  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

the  greatest  military  power  in  the  world,  to  reserve  its  little  army 
for  tlie  defense  of  its  own  soil.  England  never  hesitated,  when 
the  Belgian  frontier  was  crossed,  but  moved  with  such  extraordi- 
nary speed  that  within  four  days  after  its  declaration  of  war  its 
standing  army  was  crossing  the  channel,  and  within  a  fortnight 
it  had  landed  upon  French  soil  the  two  army  corps  which  con- 
stituted the  backbone  of  her  military  power. 

What  follows  will  be  remembered  with  admiration  and  grati- 
tude by  the  English  speaking  races  as  long  as  they  endure,  for 
nothing  in  the  history  of  that  race  is  finer  than  the  way  in  which 
the  so  called  "contemptible  little  British  Army,"  as  the  Kaiser 
somewhat  prematurely  called  it — outnumbered  four  to  one,  and 
with  an  even  greater  disproportion  in  artillery — withstood  the 
powerful  legions  of  Von  Kluck  at  Mons.  Enveloped  on  both  flanks 
they  stood  as  a  stone  wall  for  three  days  against  an  assault  of  one 
of  the  mightiest  armies  in  recorded  history,  and  only  retreated 
when  ordered  to  do  so  by  the  high  command  of  the  Allied  forces 
in  order  to  conform  to  its  strategic  plans.  The  English  were  not 
defeated  at  Mons.  It  was  a  victory,  both  in  a  technical  and  moral 
sense. 

The  retreat  from  Mons  to  the  Mame  was  one  of  terrible  hardship 
and  imminent  danger.  For  nearly  fourteen  days,  in  obedience  to 
orders,  the  British  soldiers, — fighting  terrific  rear  guard  actions, 
which,  in  retarding  the  invaders,  made  possible  the  ultimate  vic- 
tory,— slowly  retreated,  never  losing  their  morale,  although  suffer- 
ing untold  physical  hardships  and  the  greater  agony  of  temporary 
defeats,  which  they  could  not  at  that  time  understand,  and  yet 
it  is  to  their  undying  credit,  in  common  with  their  brave  comrades 
of  die  French  Army,  that  when  the  moment  came  to  cease  the 
retreat  and  to  turn  upon  a  foe,  which  flushed  with  unprecedented 
victory  still  greatly  outnumbered  die  retreating  armies,  tlie  British 


GREAT  BRITAIN— BECK  63 

soldier  struck  back  with  almost  undiminished  power.  The  "mir- 
acle of  the  Mame"  is  due  to  Tommy  Atkins  as  well  as  to  the 
French  Poilu. 

Even  more  wonderful  was  the  defense  of  Ypres.  There  was  a 
time  in  the  first  battle  of  Ypres  when  the  British  high  command, 
denuded  of  shells,  were  allotting  among  their  commands,  then  en- 
gaged in  a  life-and-death  struggle,  ammunition  which  had  not  yet 
left  England.  So  terribly  were  the  "first  seven  divisions"  of 
glorious  memory  decimated  in  this  first  battle  of  Ypres,  that  at  a 
critical  time,  the  bakers,  cobblers  and  grooms  were  put  into  the 
trenches  to  fill  the  gaps  made  by  the  slain  soldiers  in  that  great 
chamel  house.  The  "thin  red  line"  held  back — not  for  days,  but 
for  weeks, — an  immensely  superior  force,  and  the  soldiers  of 
England  unflinchingly  bared  their  breasts  to  the  most  destructive 
artillery-fire  that  the  world  at  that  time  had  ever  known.  They 
held  their  ground  and  saved  the  day,  and  the  glory  of  the  first  and 
second  battles  of  Ypres,  which  saved  Calais,  and  possibly  the  war 
itself,  will  ever  be  that  of  the  British  Army. 

Over  four  million  Britons  have  volunteered  in  the  war,  and 
although  very  few  of  them  had  ever  had  any  previous  military 
experience,  yet  their  stamina  and  unconquerable  courage  were 
such  that  the  youth  of  the  great  Empire,  on  more  than  one  occasion, 
when  called  upon,  as  on  the  Somme,  to  attack  as  well  as  defend, 
swept  the  famed  Prussian  guard  out  of  seemingly  impregnable 
positions,  as  for  example  at  Contalmaison. 

Will  the  world  ever  forget  the  children  of  the  Mother  Empire 
who  came  so  freely  and  nobly  from  far  distant  Canada,  who 
wrenched  Vimy  and  Messines  ridges  from  a  powerful  foe? 

I  hear  still  the  tramp  of  marching  thousands  in  the  first  days  of 
the  war,  as  they  passed  by  night  through  the  streets  of  Winchester 
en  route  to  France  via  Southampton,  singing  with  cheer  and  joy. 


64  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"It  is  a  long,  long  way  to  Tipperary."  Alas!  It  is  indeed  a 
"long,  long  way,"  and  many  a  gallant  English  boy  has  fallen  in 
that  way  of  glory. 

To-day,  from  the  Channel  to  the  Vosges,  there  are  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  graves  where  British  soldiers  keep  the  ghostly  bivouac 
of  the  dead.  They  gave  their  young  lives  on  the  soil  of  France  to 
save  France,  and  when  the  great  result  is  finally  accomplished, 
a  grateful  world  will  never  forget  the  "fidelity  even  unto  death"  of 
the  British  soldier.  Their  place  on  Fame's  eternal  camping  ground 
is  sure. 

What  just  man  can  fail  to  appreciate  the  work  of  the  English 
sailor?  It  has  been  said  by  Lord  Curzon,  that  never  has  a  British 
mariner  in  this  war  refused  to  accept  the  arduous  and  most  dan- 
gerous service  of  patrolling  the  great  highways  of  the  deep.  No 
soldier  can  surpass  in  courage  or  fortitude  the  mine  sweepers,  who 
have  braved  the  elemental  forces  of  nature,  and  the  most  cruel 
forces  of  the  Terror,  which  lurks  under  the  seas. 

The  spirit  of  Nelson  still  inspires  them,  for  every  mariner  of 
England  has  done  his  duty  in  this  greatest  crisis  of  the  modem 
world. 

And  how  can  words  pay  due  tribute  to  the  work  and  sacrifices 
of  the  women  and  children  of  England?  They  have  endured 
hardships  with  masculine  strength,  and  have  accepted  irreparable 
sacrifices  with  infinite  self-sacrifice. 

When  the  three  British  cruisers  were  sunk  early  in  the  war  by  a 
single  submarine,  and  many  thousand  British  sailors  perished,  the 
news  was  conveyed  to  a  seaport  town  in  England,  from  which 
many  of  them  had  been  recruited,  by  posting  upon  a  screen  the 
names  of  the  pitifully  few  men  who  had  survived  that  terrible 
disaster.  Tliousands  of  women,  the  wives  and  daughters  of  those 
who  had  perished,  waited  in  the  open  square  in  the  hope,  in  most 


GREAT  BRITAIN— BECK  65 

cases  in  vain,  to  see  the  name  of  some  one  who  was  dear  to  them 
posted  among  the  survivors;  and  yet  wlien  tlie  last  names  of  die 
rescued  were  finally  posted,  and  tliousands  of  English  women, 
tliere  assembled,  realized  that  tliose  who  were  nearest  and  dearest 
to  them  had  perished  beneath  tlie  waves,  these  women  of  England, 
instead  of  lamentations  or  tears,  in  the  spirit  of  loftiest  and  most 
sacred  patriotism  united  their  voices  and  sang  "Britannia  ndes  the 
waves,"  and  re-affirmed  their  belief  that,  notwithstanding  all  the 
powers  of  Hell,  that  "Britons  never  would  be  slaves." 

Who  shall  then  question  England's  right  to  a  conspicuous  place 
in  this  worldwide  tournament  of  Fame?  In  all  her  past  history, 
there  has  never  been  any  page  more  glorious.  Without  her,  as 
without  France,  civilization  would  have  perished.  To  each  na- 
tion be  lasting  honor! 

The  spirit  of  Shakespeare  has  animated  his  people,  and  that 
mighty  spirit  still  says  to  them  in  his  own  flaming  words — 

"In  God's  name,  cheerily  on,  courageous  friends. 
To  reap  the  harvest  of  perpetual  peace 
By  this  one  bloody  trial  of  sharp  war." 


f^ajiAK..t,.i_jjLx.^^Z2t_jUc^ 


66  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


UNITY  AND  PEACE 

GREAT  BRITAIN  and  the  United  States  were  politically  sepa- 
rated nearly  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  because  Britain  was 
not  in  those  days  governed  by  the  will  of  the  people  as  she  has  been 
for  the  last  eighty  years  and  more.  But  the  ideals  of  the  two  na- 
tions have  been  for  many  generations  substantially  the  same. 
Both  have  loved  Liberty  ever  since  the  time  when  their  common 
ancestors  wrested  it  from  feudal  monarchs.  A  time  has  now  come 
when  both  nations  are  called  to  defend,  and  to  extend  in  the  world 
at  large,  the  freedom  they  won  within  their  own  countries.  Amer- 
ica has  barkened  to  the  call.  Renouncing  her  former  isolation, 
she  has  felt  that  duty  to  mankind  requires  her  to  contend  in  arms 
for  the  freedom  she  has  illustrated  by  her  example.  The  soldiers 
of  Britain  and  France  welcome  the  stalwart  sons  of  America  as 
their  comrades  in  this  great  struggle  for  Democracy  and  Humanity. 
With  their  help,  they  look  forward  confidently  to  a  decisive  vic- 
tory, a  victory  to  be  followed  by  a  lasting  peace. 


A^ 


C^ 


nrPENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

UNITY  AND  PEACE 

GREAT  BRITAIN  and  the  United  States  were  politically  sepa- 
rated nearly  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  because  Britain  was 
not  in  those  days  governed  by  the  will  of  the  people  as  she  has  been 
for  the  last  eighty  yea;  But  li  'of  the  two  na- 

tions have  been  for  '  '    ■  illy  the  same. 

Both  have  loved  Liber;  their  common 

ancestors  wrested  it  from  i  ha«i  now  come 

when  both  nations  are  •  world 

at  large,  the  fn  edom  ti.lWB'  'Bl«!H!r..Hlt>NOUR\BLE  •  r- 

ica  has  barkened  tAHTHliHR  aAMESiiJBALPCHJR  'o, 

she  has  felTHka>rfia:«-f^rlBBt'£rftlklidliui»u»M  elqiuabtd  lib  place- and  fame,    ms 

for  the  freM!.^.*^2«i.fe^^?tei|^a;';^«?^'^;.   [^  ^'  '*'"'*  "  '^'^  ,ts 
aervi6e  to  Great  Dntain  and  all ^mocracies. 

of  Britain  and  France  w^elcome  the  s4^/iM»iK<M(h<T>dnM  fEdiUwnt).'!  ^* 
their  comrades  in  this  great  struggle  for  Democracy  nanity. 

With  tlieir  help,  they  look  forward  confidently  to  a  decisive  vic- 
tory, a  victory  to  be  followed  by  a  lasting  peace. 


/^^1^ 


GREAT  BRITAIN— HICHENS  67 


OUR  COMMON  HERITAGE 

NOT  very  long  ago  I  happened  to  be  dining  in  The  Savoy  Res- 
taurant in  London  one  evening  at  a  table  close  to  the  screen, 
when  suddenly  there  was  a  stir.  People  looked  away  from  their 
dinners.  The  band  abruptly  stopped  the  air  it  was  playing,  and 
after  an  instant's  pause  struck  up  another.  Every  one  in  the 
crowded  restaurant  stood  up.  And  then  there  came  in  slowly 
from  the  outer  hall  a  procession  of  serious  looking  men  in  uniform, 
who,  walking  in  couples,  made  their  way  to  a  large  table  almost 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  They  gained  their  places.  The  air 
ceased.  The  new  comers  sat  down.  And  we  all  went  on  with 
our  dinners  and  our  interrupted  conversations. 

What  did  we  talk  about?  Well,  I  will  dare  forswear  that  at  all 
the  tables  the  same  subject  was  discussed.  And  tliat  subject  was 
— America.  For  the  air  we  had  heard  was  "The  Star  Spangled 
Banner,"  and  the  men  we  had  seen  were  General  Pershing,  com- 
manding the  first  American  contingent  to  France,  and  his  Staff,  who 
had  landed  that  day  in  England.  It  was  a  great  moment  for 
Britishers,  and  those  of  us  who  were  there  will  probably  never 
forget  it.  For  it  meant  the  beginning  of  a  New  Era,  and,  let  us 
hope,  of  a  new  sympathy  and  a  new  understanding. 

Since  then  we  have  learnt  something  of  what  America  is  doing. 
We  know  that  ten  millions  of  men  have  registered  as  material  for 
the  American  army,  that  a  gigantic  aircraft  scheme  and  a  huge 
shipbuilding  program  are  in  process  of  realization;  that  enormous 
camps  and  cantonments  have  been  established  for  the  training  of 
officers  and  men,  that  American  women  have  crossed  the  Atlantic, 
in  spite  of  the  great  danger  from  submarines,  to  act  as  nurses  at  the 
front,  that  the  regular  army  has  been  increased  to  thrice  its  former 


68  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

size,  that  the  volunteer  militia  has  been  doubled  through  voluntary 
enlistment,  and  that  an  immense  expenditure  has  been  voted  for 
war  purposes.  We  know  all  tliis  and  we  are  glad,  and  thankful 
that  hands  have  been  held  out  to  us  across  tlie  sea. 

True  sympatliy  and  true  understanding  are  very  rare  in  this 
world.  Even  between  individuals  they  are  not  easy  to  bring  about, 
and  between  nations  they  are  practically  unknown.  Diversity  of 
tongues  builds  up  walls  between  the  peoples.  But  the  Americans 
and  the  British  ought  to  learn  to  draw  near  to  each  other,  and  surely 
the  end  of  this  war,  whenever  it  comes,  will  find  them  more  inclined 
for  true  friendship,  for  frank  understanding,  than  they  have  ever 
been  yet,  less  critical  of  national  failings,  less  clearsighted  for 
national  faults.  The  brotherhood  of  man,  which  the  idealistic 
Russian  sighs  for,  may  only  be  a  far  away  dream,  but  the  brother- 
hood of  those  who  speak  one  language,  have  one  great  aim,  and 
fight  side  by  side  for  freedom  against  force,  law  against  lawless- 
ness, justice  against  persecution,  right  against  evil,  is  a  reality,  and 
must  surely  endure  long  after  the  smoke  of  the  world  war  has 
faded  into  the  blue  sky  of  peace,  and  the  roar  of  the  guns  has  died 
away  into  the  silence  of  the  dawn  for  which  humanity  is  longing. 

The  happy  warriors  lead  us.  Let  us  follow  them  and  we  shall 
attain  a  goodly  heritage. 


/jU/T-A-k 


' k-c-H'C^t.^o 


GREAT  BRITAIN— McKENN A  69 

POETIC  JUSTICE 


THE  blow  fell  without  warning,  and  a  typewritten  notice  in- 
formed the  Poet  that  the  Cabinet  Committee  on  Accommoda- 
tion required  the  tiny,  tliread-bare  chambers  in  Stafford's  Inn, 
where  he  had  lived  unobtrusively  for  seven  happy,  insolvent 
years. 

"  'There  was  no  worth  in  tlie  fashion;  there  was  no  wit  in  the 
plan,'  "  murmured  the  Poet.  The  rooms  were  too  small  even  for 
a  Deputy-Director-General,  and  he  knew  that  not  one  of  the  silk- 
stockinged,  short-skirted,  starling-voiced  young  women  with  bare 
arms  and  regimental  badges,  who  acted  as  secretaries  to  Deputy- 
Director-Generals,  would  consent  to  walk  up  four  flights  of  creak- 
ing, uncarpeted  stairs  to  the  dusty  sparrows'  nest  on  the  housetop 
that  was  his  home. 

For  a  while  he  scented  a  vendetta,  but — deleterious  poetry  apart 
— he  had  injured  no  man,  and  the  personnel  of  the  Cabinet  Com- 
mittee was  as  little  known  to  him  as  his  poetry  to  the  Cabinet  Com- 
mittee. In  general,  too,  he  was  the  object  of  a  certain  popularity 
and  pitying  regard;  the  Millionaire  sent  him  presents  of  super- 
fluous game  each  year,  the  Iron  King  invited  him  at  short  notice  to 
make  a  fourteendi  at  dinner  and  the  Official  Receiver  unloaded  six 
bottles  of  sample  port  wine  when  the  Poet  succumbed  to  his  annual 
bronchitis.  Even  the  notice  of  eviction  was  politely  worded  and 
regretful;  it  was  also  uncompromising  in  spirit,  and  the  Poet  made 
his  hurried  way  to  four  house-agents.  No  sooner  had  he  stated 
his  requirements  to  be  a  bed-sitting-room  (with  use  of  bath)  within 
the  four-mile  radius  than  all  four  agents  offered  him  a  Tudor 
manor  house  in  Westmoreland;  further,  they  refused  to  offer  him 


70  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

anything  else,  but  on  his  own  initiative  he  discovered  a  studio  in 
Glebe  Place  and  a  service-flat  in  Victoria  Street. 

"I  saw  in  the  paper  that  you'd  been  turned  out,"  said  the  Mil- 
lionaire that  night,  when  the  Poet  trudged  home,  footsore  and 
fretful,  to  find  his  chambers  occupied  by  the  Iron  King,  the  Private 
Secretary,  the  Lexicographer,  the  Military  Attache  and  their 
friends.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  he  continued  with 
the  relentlessness  of  a  man  who  likes  a  prompt  decision,  even  if  it 
be  a  wrong  one.  "You  know  nothing  about  business,  I'm  sure; 
leases,  premiums,  insurance,  all  that  sort  of  thing.  You're  in  a 
hole;  I  don't  see  what  more  there  is  to  be  said." 

So  far  the  Poet,  his  mind  wavering  wearily  between  Glebe  Place 
and  Victoria  Street,  had  said  nothing;  he  turned  silently  to  the  Iron 
King,  wondering  how,  without  being  rude,  to  indicate  his  desire 
for  bed. 

"I  saw  rather  a  decent  place  that  might  suit  you,"  drawled  the 
Private  Secretary,  smoothing  a  wrinkle  out  of  his  shapely  silk 
socks.  "It's  next  to  my  Chief's  in  Belgrave  Square.  Of  course, 
I  don't  know  what  rent  they  want  for  it  .  .  ." 

The  Iron  King  shook  his  head. 

"He  couldn't  afford  it,"  he  said,  speaking  through  and  round 
and  over  the  Poet.  "Now  I'm  told  that  there  are  some  very  com- 
fortable and  cheap  boarding-houses  near  Kensington  Palace  Gar- 
dens. .  .  ." 

The  Poet  drew  the  cork  of  a  fresh  bottle  of  whisky  and  collected 
four  unbroken  tumblers,  a  pewter  mug  and  two  breakfast  cups 
without  handles.  As  so  often  before,  his  destiny  seemed  to  be 
slipping  out  of  his  control  into  the  hands  of  the  practical,  strong- 
voiced  men  who  filled  his  sitting-room  to  overflowing  and  would 
not  let  him  go  to  bed.  The  Military  Attache  knew  of  a  maisonnette 
in  Albemarle  Street;  the  Official  Receiver  had  been  recently  brought 


GREAT  BRITAIN— McKENNA  71 

into  professional  contact  witli  a  fine  Georgian  property  in  Bucking- 
hamshire, where  they  could  all  meet  for  a  week-end  game  of  golf  at 
Stoke  Pogis.  Somewhere  in  Chelsea— not  Glehe  Place — tlie  Lexi- 
cographer had  seen  just  tlie  thing,  if  only  he  could  be  quite  sure 
about  tlie  drains  .  .  .  With  loud  cheerfulness  they  accepted  the 
Millionaire's  postulate  that  the  Poet  knew  nothing  of  business;  un- 
selfishly they  placed  all  their  experience  and  preferences  at  his 

disposal. 

"Of  course,  tliere's  the  servant  problem,"  an  undistinguishable 
voice  remarked  two  hours  later;  and  the  Poet,  settling  to  an  uneasy 
sleep  in  his  chair,  mentally  ruled  out  the  Chelsea  studio. 

"The  ordinary  surveyor's  no  use,"  broke  in  the  Lexicographer, 
pursuing  his  own  line  of  thought.     "What  you  want  is  a  drainage 

expert." 

"I  know  these  good,  honest,  middle-aged  couples,"  cried  the  Iron 
King  with  the  bitterness  of  an  oft-defrauded  widower.  "The 
woman  always  drinks,  and  the  man  always  steals  the  cigars  .  .  ." 
"I  have  nothing  but  gas  in  my  place,"  said  the  decorous  voice  of 
the  Private  Secretary,  "and  I  have  it  on  pretty  good  authority  tliat 
there'll  be  a  great  coal  shortage  this  winter.  I  don't  want  that  to 
go  any  furtlier,  tliough  .  .  ." 

The  Millionaire  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  yawn. 
"He  must  get  an  experienced  woman-friend  to  help  him  with 
things  like  carpets  and  curtains,"  he  ordained  with  mellow  benevo- 
lence.    "Wlien  my  wife  comes  back  from  Wales  .  .  .  How  soon 
do  you  have  to  turn  out,  Poet?" 

The  Poet  woke  with  a  start  and  looked  at  the  clock.     The  time 
was  a  quarter  to  two,  and  he  still  wanted  to  go  to  bed. 
"Ten  days,"  he  murmured  drowsily. 

"Jove!     You  haven't  much  time,"  said  the  Millionaire.     "Now, 
look  here;  the  one  thing  not  to  do  is  to  be  in  a  hurry.     Any  place 


72  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

you  take  now  will  probably  have  to  serve  you  for  several  years,  and 
you'll  find  moving  a  lot  more  expensive  tlian  you  think.  If  you 
can  get  some  kind  of  shake-down  for  a  few  days, — "  he  turned 
expansively  to  his  friends — "we  may  be  able  to  give  you  a  few 
hints." 

The  Poet  became  suddenly  wakeful  and  alert. 

"Do  I  understand  that  you're  offering  me  a  bed  until  you  fiiid 
me  permanent  quarters?"  he  enquired  with  slow  precision. 

"Er — yes,"  said  the  Millionaire  a  little  blankly. 

"Thank  you,"  answered  the  Poet  simply.  "I  say,  d'you  men 
mind  if  I  turn  you  out  now?  It's  rather  late,  and  I  haven't  been 
deeping  very  well." 


n 


A 


WEEK  later  the  Poet  walked  up  Park  Lane,  followed  by  an 
elderly  man  trundling  two  compressed  cane  trunks  on  a  bar- 
row with  a  loose  wheel.  It  was  a  radiant  summer  afternoon,  and 
taxis  stood  idle  in  long  ranks,  when  they  were  not  drawing  in  to 
the  curb  with  winning  gestures.  The  Poet,  however,  wished  to 
make  his  arrival  dramatic,  and  it  was  dramatic  enough  to  make 
the  Millionaire's  butler  direct  him  to  the  tradesmen's  entrance, 
while  the  Millionaire,  remembering  little  but  suspecting  all,  hur- 
ried away  bj"^  a  side  door,  leaving  a  message  that  he  was  out  of 
England  for  the  duration  of  the  war.  The  lot  fell  on  the  Million- 
aire's wife  to  invent  such  excuses  as  would  rid  the  house  of  the 
Poet's  presence  before  dinner.  The  Millionaire's  instincts  were 
entirely  hospitable,  but  that  night's  party  had  been  arranged  for  the 
entertainment  and  subsequent  destruction  of  four  men  with  money 
to  invest  and,  like  the  Poet,  "no  knowledge  of  business,  investments, 
all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"No,  we  have  not  met  before,"  explained  the  Poet  coldly  and 


GREAT  BRITAIN— McKENNA  73 

uncompromisingly,  abandoning  tlie  rather  gentle  voice  and  caress- 
ing manners  which  caused  women  to  invite  him  to  dinner  when  they 
could  think  of  no  one  else.  "Your  husband  and  one  or  two  of  our 
common  friends  have  kindly  undertaken  to  find  me  new  quarters, 
and  I  have  been  invited  to  stay  here  mitil  soraetliing  suitable  has 
been  found." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  the  Millionaire's 
wife  looked  apprehensively  at  the  clock,  while  the  Poet  laid  the 
foundations  of  a  malignantly  substantial  tea. 

"H-how  far  have  you  got  at  present?"  she  asked  with  an  em- 
barrassed laugh. 

"Your  husband  told  me  to  leave  it  to  him,"  answered  the  Poet, 
"and  I've  left  it  to  him.  There  was  a  general  feeling  that  I  didn't 
know  what  I  wanted — house  or  flat,  nortli  or  south  of  the  Park,  all 
the  rest  of  it — ;  they  said  there  would  be  a  scandal  if  I  employed 
a  young  maid,  I  couldn't  afford  two,  and  an  old  one  would  pawn 
my  clothes  to  buy  gin.  I  am  quoting  your  husband  now;  I  know 
nothing  of  business.  Every  one  agreed,  too,  that  I  must  have  a 
drain  of  some  kind.  Would  you  say  it  took  long  to  find  a  bed- 
sitting  room  with  use  of  bath?" 

The  Millionaire's  wife  hurriedly  pushed  back  her  chair. 

"My  husband's  going  abroad  for  the  duration  of  the  war,"  she 
said  in  loyal  explanation,  "but  it's  just  possible  that  he  hasn't 
started  yet." 

The  Millionaire,  returning  on  lip-toe  from  the  loft  over  the 
garage,  had  sought  asylum  in  the  library,  where  he  was  smoking 
a  cigar  and  reading  the  evening  paper.  As  his  wife  entered  he 
looked  up  with  welcoming  expectancy. 

"How  did  you  get  rid  of  him?"  he  asked. 

The  Millionaire's  wife  pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples. 

"My  dear!     What  have  you  been  promising  him?"  she  cried. 


74  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

The  Millionaire  swore  softly,  as  the  truth  sank  into  his  brain. 

"Have  another  place  laid  for  dinner,"  he  ordered;  "book  two 
seats  for  a  music-hall  and  take  him  out  to  supper  afterwards.  I 
can't  afford  to  be  disturbed  to-night.  To-morrow  I  must  get  in 
touch  with  tlie  Iron  King  ...  I  don't  see  what  more  there  is  to 
be  said." 

Four  weeks  later  the  Poet  drove  in  a  six-cylinder  car  from  Park 
Lane  to  Eaton  Square  on  an  indeterminate  visit  to  the  Iron  King. 
He  was  looking  better  for  the  month's  good  wine  and  food,  in  which 
the  Millionaire's  house  abounded;  but  now  tlie  Millionaire,  who 
based  his  fortune  on  knowing  the  right  people  in  every  walk  of 
life,  was  arranging  to  have  his  house  taken  over  by  the  Red  Cross 
authorities.  In  a  week's  time  the  house  was  to  be  found  imsuitable 
and  restored  to  him,  but  henceforth  the  Iron  King  was  to  have  the 
honor  of  entertaining  the  Poet. 

"How  you  ever  came  to  make  such  a  promise!"  wailed  the  Mil- 
lionaire's wife  for  the  twentieth  time,  as  they  drove  to  Claridge's. 
"London's  so  full  that  you  might  have  known  it's  impossible  to  get 
anything." 

"I  feel  that  we  have  exhausted  this  subject,"  answered  the  Mil- 
lionaire with  the  bruskness  of  a  man  whose  nerves  have  worn 
thin;  with  the  menace,  too,  of  one  who,  having  divorced  his  first 
wife,  would  divorce  the  second  on  small  provocation. 

The  Iron  King  was  not  at  home  when  the  Poet  arrived  in  Eaton 
Square,  but  a  pretty,  young  secretary,  cultured  to  the  point  of  trans- 
forming all  her  final  "g's"  into  "k's"  received  him  with  every  mark 
of  welcome.  She  admired  the  Iron  King  romantically  and  was  in 
the  habit  of  writing  his  surname  after  her  own  Christian  name  to 
see  how  the  combination  looked;  and,  when  he  had  departed  each 
morning  to  contest  his  latest  assessment  for  excess  profits,  she 
would  wander  through  the  house,  planning  little  changes  in  the  ar- 


GREAT  BRITAIN— McKENNA  75 

rangement  of  the  furniture  and  generally  deploring  the  sober, 
colorless  taste  of  the  first  Iron  Queen.  So  far  her  employer  re- 
turned none  of  her  admiration.  He  addressed  her  loosely  as 
"Miss — er"  and  forgot  her  name;  he  never  noticed  what  clothes 
she  was  wearing  or  the  pretty  dimples  that  she  made  by  holding 
down  the  inside  flesh  of  her  cheeks  between  her  eye-teeth;  further, 
he  criticized  her  spelling  spitefully  and,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
Millionaire's  second  marriage,  had  dictated  a  savage  half  sheet, 
beginning,  "A  young  man  may  marry  once,  as  he  may  get  drunk 
once,  without  the  world  thinking  much  the  worse  of  him;  habitual 
intemperance  is,  on  first  principles,  to  be  deplored,  .  .  ." 

The  pretty  young  secretary  knew  from  fiction  and  the  drama 
that  the  Iron  King  would  never  appreciate  her  until  he  stood  in 
danger  of  losing  her.  She  welcomed  the  Poet  as  a  foil  and  mis- 
quoted his  poetry  twice  before  tea  was  over;  then  she  invited  him 
to  accompany  her  to  a  picture  palace,  but  the  Poet,  once  inside  the 
citadel,  was  reluctant  to  leave  it  until  his  position  was  more  firmly 
established. 

Securely  entrenched  at  Claridge's,  the  Millionaire  telephoned 
derisively  to  the  city,  so  that  the  Iron  King  returned  home  half  an 
hour  before  his  usual  time,  prepared  to  deal  with  the  Poet  as  he 
dealt  with  querulous  or  inquisitive  shareholders  at  General  Meet- 
ings. The  Poet,  however,  was  long  and  painfully  accustomed  to 
combat  with  enraged  editors  and  lost  no  time  in  assuming  the  offen- 
sive, demanding  indignantly  in  a  high  head-voice,  before  the  Iron 
King  had  crossed  his  own  threshold,  why  no  quarters  had  been 
found  for  him  and  how  much  longer  any  one  imagined  that  he 
would  put  up  with  the  indignity  of  being  bandied  from  one 
wretched  house  to  anodier. 

The  flushed  cheeks  and  hysterical  manner  put  the  Iron  King  tem- 
porarily out  of  countenance. 


76  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"My  dear  fellow!"  he  interrupted  ingratiatingly. 

"I'm  not  a  business  man,"  continued  the  Poet  hotly.  "You  all 
of  you  told  me  that,  and  I'm  disposed  to  say:  'Thank  God,  I'm 
not. 

The  Iron  King  put  his  hat  carefully  out  of  reach  and  forced 
a  smile. 

"You  mustn't  take  it  like  that,  old  chap,"  he  said  soothingly. 
"I — we — all  of  us  are  doing  our  best.  Now  we  won't  bother  about 
dressing;  let's  go  straight  in  and  thrash  the  thing  out  over  a  bottle  of 
wine." 

Instructing  his  butler  very  audibly  to  open  a  bottle  of  the  1906 
Lanson,  he  slipped  his  arm  through  the  Poet's  and  led  him,  sullenly 
murmuring,  into  the  dining-room.  With  tlie  second  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne, his  guest  ceased  to  be  aggrieved  and  became  quarrelsome; 
when  the  port  wine  appeared,  he  had  the  Iron  King  cowed  and 
broken  in  moral. 

"If  you  find  fault  with  everything,  why  do  you  come  here,  why 
stay  here?"  complained  the  Iron  King  with  a  last  flickering  effort 
to  recover  his  independence. 

"Why  don't  you  find  me  some  other  place  to  go  to,  as  you 
promised?"  the  Poet  retorted,  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  morning- 
room  and  sat  down  to  order  a  month's  supply  of  underclothes  from 
his  hosier. 

m 

J.  HE  Iron  King  always  boasted  that  honesty  was  the  best  policy 
and  that  he  was  invariably  willing  to  put  his  cards  on  the  table. 
The  Millionaire  had  once  professed  himself  likely  to  be  satisfied  if 
the  Iron  King  would  only  remove  the  fifth  ace  from  his  sleeve,  and 
a  certain  coolness  between  the  two  men  resulted.  In  general,  how- 
ever, he  had  the  reputation  of  a  frank,  bluff  fellow. 


GREAT  BRITAIN— McKENNA  77 

On  the  morrow  of  the  Poet's  arrival,  he  remained  in  bed  and 
announced  in  the  quavering  pencil-strokes  of  a  sick  man,  that  he 
was  suffering  from  antlirax,  which,  he  might  add,  was  not  only 
painful  but  infectious.  The  Poet  scrawled  across  one  comer  of  the 
note  that  anthrax  was  usually  fatal,  but  tliat,  as  he  himself  had 
twice  had  it,  he  would  risk  taking  it  a  third  time  in  order  to  be  witli 
his  friend.  Thereupon  the  Iron  King  departed  to  the  city,  leaving 
the  Poet  to  dictate  blank  verse  to  the  pretty  young  secretary,  who 
curled  both  feet  round  one  leg  of  her  chair,  told  him  that  she  "loved 
his  potry  more'n  anythink  she'd  ever  read"  and  asked  how  all  the 
hard  words  like  "chrysoprase"  and  "asphodel"  were  spelt.  That 
night  a  telegram  arrived  shortly  before  diimer,  and  the  Iron  King 
announced  that  the  Ministry  of  Munitions  was  sending  him  to 
America  to  stabilize  iron  prices. 

"Why  can't  you  finish  one  thing  before  starting  another?"  de- 
manded the  Poet  hectoringly.  "You  haven't  yet  found  me  any 
quarters,  and  you  call  yourself  a  business  man.  I  shall  of  course 
stay  on  here  till  your  return  .  .  ." 

The  Iron  King  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"That's    impossible,"    he    interrupted.     "My    young    secre- 

tary  .  .  . 

"You  must  take  her  with  you,"  answered  the  Poet  obstinately. 

The  subject  was  not  pursued,  but  at  bed  time  the  Iron  King 
roundly  asked  tlie  Poet  how  much  he  would  take  to  go  away. 

"I  require  a  home,"  answered  the  Poet  frigidly,  remembering 
the  weary  day  spent  by  him  in  discovering  the  Glebe  Place  studio 
and  the  weary  night  spent  by  the  Iron  King  in  recommending 
Kensington  boarding  houses.     "I  do  not  want  your  money." 

"We  shan't  fall  out  over  a  pound  or  two,"  urged  the  Iron  King 
with  a  meaning  motion  of  tlie  hand  towards  his  breast  pocket. 

"A  thing  is  either  a  promise  or  it  is  not  a  promise,"  replied  the 


78  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Poet,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel.  "I  know  nothing  of  business  or 
what  people  are  pleased  to  term  'commercial  morality.'  " 

Four  weeks  later  the  Poet  left  Eaton  Square  for  the  Private 
Secretary's  rooms  in  Bury  Street.  He  looked  thin  and  anemic 
after  his  month  of  privations,  for  the  Iron  King,  improving  in 
morale  and  recapturing  something  of  the  old  strike-breaking  spirit, 
had  counter-attacked  on  the  third  day  of  the  Poet's  visit.  The 
chaufiFeur,  butler  and  two  footmen,  all  of  military  age,  had  been 
claimed  on  successive  appeals  as  indispensable,  but  on  their  last 
appearance  at  the  Tribunal  the  Iron  King  had  unprotestingly  pre- 
sented them  to  the  Army.  This  he  followed  by  breakfasting  in 
bed,  lunching  in  the  city,  dining  at  his  club  and  leaving  neither 
instructions  nor  money  for  the  maintenance  of  the  household.  For 
a  time  the  Poet  was  saved  from  the  greater  starvation  by  the  care  of 
the  pretty  young  secretary,  but  without  an  Iron  King  there  was  no 
need  for  a  foil.  Sharp  words  were  exchanged  one  morning  over 
die  propriety  of  grounds  in  coffee;  the  pretty  young  secretary  de- 
clared that  she  would  "have  nothink  more  to  do  with  him  or  his  old 
potry";  and  in  the  afternoon  he  packed  his  trunks  with  his  own 
hands  and  with  his  own  hands  dragged  them  downstairs  on  to  the 
pavement,  leaving  the  pretty  young  secretary  biting  viciously  at 
the  comer  of  a  crumpled  handkerchief  drenched  in  "White  Rose." 

The  Private  Secretary  received  him  in  a  manner  different  from 
that  adopted  by  either  the  Millionaire  or  the  Iron  King.  The  two 
men  were  of  nearly  the  same  age,  but  in  a  deferential,  if  mis-spent, 
life  the  Private  Secretary  had  learned  to  be  non-committal.  Well 
he  knew  that  he  had  but  one  bedroom;  well  he  knew  that,  on  admit- 
ting it,  the  Poet  would  claim  it  from  him. 

"A  spare  bed?"  he  echoed,  when  the  Poet  dragged  his  trunks 
into  the  middle  of  a  tiny  sitting  room.  "Really,  I  have  no  state- 
ment to  make." 


GREAT  BRITAIN— McKENNA  79 

"At  least  you  will  not  deny,"  said  the  Poet  with  truculent  em- 
phasis, "that  you  undertook  to  find  me  suitable  accommodation 
and  to  supply  me  with  a  bed  until  it  was  found." 

"I  must  refer  you  to  the  reply  given  to  a  similar  question  on 
the  twenty-third  ultimo,"  answered  the  Private  Secretary  loftily. 
For  a  rich  reward  he  could  not  have  said  where  he  had  been  or 
what  he  had  done  on  the  twenty-tliird  ultimo,  but  to  the  Poet  the 
reply  was  new  and  disconcerting. 

"Where's  my  flat  anyway?"  he  pursued  doggedly. 

"I  have  no  statement  to  make,"  reiterated  the  Private  Secretary. 

After  an  awkward  silence,  during  which  neither  yielded  an  inch 
of  ground,  the  Poet  dragged  his  trunks  destructively  downstairs 
and  drove  to  the  flat  of  the  Official  Receiver.  Glowing  with  the 
consciousness  of  victory,  the  Private  Secretary  dressed  for  dinner 
and  started  out  to  his  club.  His  good-humor  was  impaired,  when 
he  observed  in  his  hall  a  pendant  triangle  of  wall-paper  flapping  in 
the  draught  of  the  open  door  through  which  the  Poet  had  dragged 
his  trunks.  Further  on,  the  paint  was  scarred  on  the  stairs,  and 
the  carpet  of  the  main  hall  was  rucked  and  disordered;  there  was 
also  a  lingering  suggestion  of  escaping  gas,  and  the  Secretary 
observed  a  bracket  hanging  at  a  bibulous  angle. 

"This,"  he  murmured  through  grimly  set  teeth,  "is  sheer  fright- 
fulness." 

Returning  to  his  rooms,  he  drawled  a  friendly  warning  by  tele- 
phone to  the  Millionaire,  who  instantly  gave  orders  that  no  one 
of  any  sex  or  age  was  to  be  admitted.  Next  he  called  up  the  Iron 
King  and  repeated  the  warning;  then  the  Lexicographer,  the  Official 
Receiver  and  the  Military  Attache  were  similarly  placed  on  their 
guard,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  proceed  to  his  belated 
dinner. 

The  Great  War,  which  had  converted  staff  officers  into  popular 


80  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

preachers,  novelists  into  strategical  experts  and  every  one  else  into 
a  Minister  of  the  Crown,  had  left  the  Poet  (in  name,  at  least)  a  poet 
and  in  nothing  else  anything  at  all.  He  acted  precisely  as  the 
Private  Secretary  had  intended  him  to  act,  driving  first  to  the 
Lexicographer's  house,  where  he  was  greeted  by  a  suspiciously 
new  "TO  LET"  board,  and  thence  to  the  Official  Receiver's  flat, 
where  a  typewritten  card  informed  him  that  this  bell  was  out  of 
order.  Embarrassed  but  purposeful,  he  directed  his  four-wheeler 
to  Eaton  Square,  but  the  blinds  were  down,  and  a  semblance  of 
mourning  draped  the  Iron  King's  house.  In  Park  Lane  a  twenty- 
yard  expanse  of  straw,  nine  inches  thick,  prayed  silence  for  th« 
Millionaire's  quick  recovery. 

"I  don't  know  where  to  go  to  next,"  murmured  the  Poet  de- 
jectedly. 

"Well,  I'm  blest  if  I  do,"  grumbled  the  driver,  "And  it's  past 
my  tea-time.     Doncher  know  where  yer  live?" 

"Years  ago  I  had  rooms  in  Stafford's  Inn,"  began  the  Poet. 
"Then  the  Cabinet  Committee  .  .  ." 

The  cabman  descended  from  his  box  for  a  heart  to  heart  con- 
versation. 

"Now  you  look  'ere,"  he  said.  "I  got  a  boy  at  'ome  the  livin' 
image  of  you  .  .  ." 

"But  how  nice!"  interrupted  the  Poet,  wondering  apprehen- 
sively whether  an  invitation  was  on  its  way  to  him. 

The  cabman  sniffed. 

"Not  quite  right  in  'is  'ead  'e  ain't.  Thereiore  I  don't  want  to 
be  'arsh  with  yer.  Jump  inside,  let  me  drive  yer  ter  Stafford's  Inn, 
pay  me  me  legal  fare  and  a  bob  ter  drink  yer  'ealth — and  we'll  say 
no  more  abaht  it.  If  yer  don't — "  He  made  a  threatening  ges- 
ture towards  the  Poet's  precariously  strapped  trunks — "I'll  throw 


GREAT  BRITAIN— McKENN A  81 

the  blinkin'  lot  on  ter  the  pivement,  and  yer  can  carry  'em  'ome 
on  yer  'ead.     See?" 

"I  couldn't,  you  know,"  objected  the  Poet  gently. 

"Jump  inside,"  repeated  the  cabman. 

One  hope  was  as  forlorn  as  another,  and  the  Poet  was  too  sick 
with  hunger  to  think  of  resistance.  In  time  the  four-wheeler 
rumbled  its  way  to  Stafford's  Inn;  in  time  and  by  force  of  habit 
the  Poet  was  mounting  the  bare,  creaking,  wooden  stairs;  in  time 
he  found  himself  fitting  his  unsurrendered  latch  key  into  his  aban- 
doned lock. 

Beyond  an  eight  weeks'  layer  of  dust  on  chairs  and  table,  the 
threadbare  rooms  were  little  changed.  A  loaf  of  bread,  green  and 
furred  with  mold,  lay  beside  an  empty  marmalade  pot  from  which 
a  cloud  of  flies  emerged  with  angry  buzzing;  a  breakfast  cup  with- 
out a  handle  completed  the  furniture  of  the  table,  and  in  the  rickety 
armchair  was  an  eight-week-old  Morning  Post. 

"The  Cabinet  Committee  has  neglected  its  opportunities,"  grum- 
bled the  Poet,  surveying  with  disfavor  the  dusty,  derelict  scene. 

Then  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  long  envelope,  thrust  half-way 
under  the  door,  from  the  Cabinet  Committee  itself.  An  inde- 
cipherable set  of  initials,  later  describing  itself  as  his  obedient 
servant,  was  directed  to  inform  him  on  a  date  two  months  earlier 
that  it  had  been  decided  not  to  requisition  the  offices  and  chambers 
of  Stafford's  Inn.  The  formal  notice  v.'as  accordingly  to  be  re- 
garded as  canceled. 

The  Poet,  who  knew  nothing  of  business,  wrote  instructing  his 
solicitors  to  claim  for  two  months'  disturbance  from  the  Defense  of 
the  Realm  Commission  on  Losses  and  to  include  all  legal  costs  in 
the  claim. 


82  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

IV 

1  HREE  weeks  later  the  Private  Secretary  was  strolling  across  the 
Horse  Guards'  Parade  on  his  way  to  luncheon,  when  he  caught 
sight  of  the  Poet.  Since  their  last  altercation  his  conscience  had 
been  as  uneasy  as  a  Private  Secretary's  conscience  can  be,  and  he 
strove  to  avoid  the  meeting.  The  Poet,  however,  was  full  of 
sunshine  and  smiles. 

"I've  not  seen  you  for  weeks!"  he  cried  welcomingly.  "How's 
everybody  and  what's  everybody  doing?  Is  the  Millionaire  all 
right  again?     I  understand  he's  been  ill." 

The  Private  Secretary  eyed  his  friend  suspiciously. 

"He  has  not  left  his  house  for  three  weeks,"  he  answered. 

"And  the  Iron  King?" 

"He  has  not  either." 

The  Poet's  eyes  lit  up  with  dawning  comprehension. 

"What  about  the  Lexicographer  and  the  Official  Receiver?"  he 
asked.  "The  same?  What  an  infernal  nuisance!  I  wanted  to 
call  round  and  see  whether  they  had  got  me  a  flat." 

The  Private  Secretary  shook  his  head. 

"It's  not  the  least  use,"  he  said  emphatically.  "None  of  tliem 
has  been  outside  his  front  door  for  three  weeks,  no  one  knows  when 
they'll  come  out  again,  no  one  is  allowed  inside.  Last  night  I 
had  a  box  given  me  for  the  theater,  and  I  tried  to  make  up  a  party; 
all  their  telephones  were  disconnected,  and,  when  I  drove  round 
in  person,  I  couldn't  even  get  the  bell  answered."  He  paused  and 
then  enquired  carelessly,  "By  the  way,  have  you  got  into  your  new 
quarters  yet?     They  would  be  interested  to  know." 

"I  haven't  got  any  new  quarters,"  answered  tlie  Poet.  "You 
remember  that  you  and  the  others  were  going  to  find  them  for  me. 


GREAT  BRITAIN— McKENNA  83 

I  know  nothing  of  business — and  I'm  not  likely  to  get  new  rooms 
until  I  see  the  Millionaire  and  the  Iron  King." 

At  the  steps  of  his  club  tlie  Private  Secretary  paused,  as  though 
wondering  whether  to  say  that  the  Poet  was  unlikely  to  see  the  Iron 
King  or  the  Millionaire  until  he  had  got  his  new  rooms.  This 
prolonged  voluntary  self-internment  was  a  source  of  inconvenience, 
for  in  the  peaceful  days  before  the  Cabinet  Committee  on  Accom- 
modation had  stepped  in,  there  were  pleasant  parties  in  Eaton 
Square  and  Park  Lane.  Now  the  Private  Secretary  was  reduced 
to  paying  for  his  own  dinners  more  often  than  was  agreeable.  He 
said  nothing,  however,  for  fear  of  concentrating  the  Poet's  fire  on 
himself. 

"It  must  be  simply  wrecking  their  business,"  said  the  Poet  to 
himself,  as  he  walked  to  Bedford  Row  to  see  how  the  claim  for 
disturbance  was  progressing.  "It  serves  them  right,  though,  for 
talking  drains  when  I  wanted  to  go  to  bed." 

Stephen  McKenna 


84  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

THE  SPELL  OF  THE  KILTIES 

WHAT  made  the  crowds  turn  out  in  their  applauding  thou- 
sands in  New  York,  Boston,  Chicago,  Brooklyn,  and  wher- 
ever the  "Kilties"  from  Canada  appeared  during  tlieir  visit  to  tlie 
United  States  of  America  on  their  British  Recruiting  Mission,  dur- 
ing the  summer  of  1917? 

Or  why  do  tlie  inhahitants  of  Paris  single  out  the  kilted  regiments 
when  a  March  Past  of  the  forces  of  the  Allies  is  held  on  a  National 
Fete  Day,  and  press  upon  the  soldiers  witli  showers  of  flowers  and 
tokens  of  admiration? 

Is  it  simply  because  the  dress  worn  is  somewhat  out  of  the  com- 
mon, giving  a  touch  of  color  to  these  gray  times,  and  bringing 
associations  of  days  of  old,  as  the  men  swing  along,  with  a  swish 
of  their  kilts,  to  the  skirl  of  the  Pipes? 

Or  is  there  not  a  deeper  meaning  in  this  spontaneous  welcome 
which  comes  so  evidently  from  the  hearts  of  the  onlookers,  and  one 
which  is  reflected  in  the  popularity  of  Colonel  Walter  Scott's  New 
York  kilted  Highlanders,  and  by  the  many  fine  bodies  of  men 
turned  out — mostly  at  their  own  expense — by  the  Scottish  Clan 
and  Highland  Dress  Associations,  in  various  cities  of  the  U.  S.  A.? 

The  truth  is  that  deep  down  in  the  hearts  of  the  majority  of  the 
human  race  there  exists  a  profound  attachment  to  the  ideals  of  gal- 
lantry and  chivalry  which  were  nourished  by  the  stories  we  loved  in 
childhood,  and  by  tlie  tales  of  Scottish  prowess,  in  prose  and  poetry, 
selected  for  the  school-books  in  use  by  the  children  of  the  English- 
speaking  peoples. 

Scotland  has  indeed  been  blessed  by  the  possession  of  poets  and 
bards  who  have  preserved  her  annals  and  sung  the  deeds  of  her 
patriot  heroes  in  so  alluring  a  form,  that  her  sons  and  daughters 


SCOTLAND— LADY  ABERDEEN  85 

are  assured  of  a  welcome  in  any  part  of  the  world,  and  start  with 
the  great  asset  of  being  always  expected  to  "make  good"  in  every 
land  of  their  adoption.  Wherever  they  may  roam,  we  find  them 
occupying  positions  of  influence,  and  still  cherishing  and  promul- 
gating the  traditions  and  the  customs  of  the  Land  of  the  Heather, 
which  impel  to  high  tliinking,  resolute  doing,  and  the  upholding  of 
old  standards,  such  as  build  up  the  lives  botli  of  individuals  and  of 
nations. 

And  dius,  when  the  moment  of  emergency  arrives  when  "to  every 
man  and  nation  comes  the  moment  to  decide"  you  will  find  the  men 
and  women  of  Scottish  descent  to  tlie  forefront  in  every  fight  for 
liberty  and  righteousness  in  every  part  of  the  globe. 

And  in  tlie  midst  of  the  clash  and  din  of  arms  you  will  catch 
ever  and  anon  the  sound  of  the  up-lifting  cadence  of  some  grand 
old  Scottish  Psalm  tune,  bringing  comfort,  and  courage,  and  calm, 
— and  then  the  call  of  the  Pipes,  inspiring  war-worn  troops  to  ac- 
complish impossible  tasks,  such  as  tlie  feats  which  have  made  the 
Gordon  Highlanders  and  their  Pipers  immortal — as  at  Dargai,  and 
have  brought  fresh  glory  to  many  a  Scottish  Regiment  in  this  great 
war — aye,  and  to  many  a  regiment  of  brother  Gaels  from  Ireland 
also,  of  whose  exploits  we  have  heard  as  they  rushed  into  the  fray, 
preceded  by  their  Irish  War-Pipes. 

A  few  weeks  ago,  a  young  widow  with  her  two  months'  old  baby 
in  her  anns,  was  following  the  remains  of  her  husband  to  his  war- 
rior's grave  "somewhere  in  France."  She  was  dry-eyed  and  rebel- 
lious in  her  youthful  despair,  as  she  walked  at  the  head  of  the  sad 
little  procession  of  her  husband's  comrades; — and  then  the  party 
met  a  Highland  Pipe  Band,  whose  Pipe-Major,  quick  to  understand 
the  situation,  halted  his  men,  wheeled  them  round,  and  gave  the 
signal  to  play  the  lovely  Lament:     "Lochaber  no  more!" 

At  the  sound  of  the  familiar  strains  the  founts  of  sorrow  were 


86  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

unsealed,  and  weeping,  but  comforted,  the  child-wife  mother  was 
able  to  commit  her  dead  hero's  dust  to  the  grave  in  sure  and  certain 
confidence  of  a  glorious  re-union,  and  turned  to  face  life  again  with 
his  little  son,  with  strength  and  faith  renewed. 

This  is  but  a  little  incident,  but  it  illustrates  the  hold  that  the 
music  of  the  Gael  has  on  the  hearts  of  its  children,  and  of  its  power 
to  evoke  memories  and  associations  full  of  inspiration  both  in  joy 
and  in  sorrow. 

And  is  not  this  the  interpretation  of  the  spell  of  the  "Kilties"? 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES  87 


SHERSTON'S  WEDDING  EVE 

IN  THE  gathering  twilight  a  man  stood  at  the  eastern  window  of 
a  room  which  formed  the  top  story  of  one  of  the  houses  in 
Peter  the  Great  Terrace — that  survival  from  the  early  nineteenth 
century  which  forms  a  kind  of  recess  in  the  broad  thoroughfare 
linking  Waterloo  Bridge  with  the  Strand.  The  man's  name  was 
Shirley  Sherston,  and  among  the  happy,  prosperous  few  who  are 
concerned  with  such  things,  he  was  known  for  his  fine,  distin- 
guished work  in  domestic  architecture. 

It  was  the  evening  of  October  13,  1915,  and  Sherston  was  to  be 
married  to-morrow. 

Now,  for  what  most  people  would  have  thought  a  puerile  reason, 
that  witli  him  13  had  always  proved  a  lucky  number,  he  had  much 
wished  that  to-day  should  be  his  wedding  day.  And  Helen  Pom- 
eroy,  his  future  wife,  who  never  thought  anything  he  did  or  desired 
to  do  puerile  or  unreasonable,  had  been  quite  willing  to  fall  in 
with  his  fancy.  The  lucky  day  had  actually  been  chosen.  Then 
a  tiresome  woman,  a  sister  of  Miss  Pomeroy's  mother,  had  said 
she  could  not  be  present  at  the  marriage  if  it  took  place  on  the 
thirteenth,  as  on  that  day  her  son,  who  had  been  home  on  leave, 
was  going  back  to  the  Front.  She  had  also  pointed  out  quite  un- 
necessarily, that  13  is  an  unlucky  number. 

Staring  out  into  the  gathering  darkness,  Sherston's  stormy, 
eager  heart  began  to  quiver  with  longing,  with  regret,  and  with  the 
half-painful  rapture  of  anticipation.  He  had  suddenly  visioned — 
and  Sherston  was  a  man  given  to  vivid  visions — where  he  would 
have  been  now,  at  this  moment,  had  his  marriage  indeed  taken 
place  this  morning.  He  saw  himself,  on  this  beautiful  starlit, 
moonless  night,  standing,  along  with  his  dear  love,  on  the  plat- 


88  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

form  of  a  medieval  tower,  which,  together  with  the  picturesque 
farmhouse  which  had  heen  tacked  on  to  the  tower  about  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  rose,  close  to  the  seashore,  on  a  lonely  stretch  of  the 
Sussex  coast. 

But  what  was  not  true  to-night  would  be  true  to-morrow  night, 
twenty-four  hours  from  now. 

He  had  bought  tower  and  house  three  years  ago,  and  he  had 
spent  there  many  happy  holidays,  boating  and  fishing,  alone,  or  in 
company  of  some  man  chimi.  Sherston  had  never  thought  to 
bring  a  woman  there,  for  the  morrow's  bridegroom,  for  some  six 
to  seven  years  past,  had  had  an  impatient  contempt  for,  as  well  as 
a  fear  of,  women. 

Sherston  was  a  widower,  though  he  never  used  the  word,  even 
in  his  innermost  heart,  for  to  him  the  term  connoted  something 
slightly  absurd,  and  he  was  sensitive  to  ridicule. 

Very  few  of  the  people  at  present  acquainted  with  the  brilliant, 
pleasantly  eccentric  architect,  knew  that  he  had  been  married  be- 
fore. But  of  course  the  handful  of  old  Bohemian  comrades  whom 
he  had  faithfully  kept  from  out  of  the  past,  were  well  aware  of 
the  fact.  They  were  not  likely  to  forget  it  either,  for  whenever  he 
was  mentioned,  each  of  them  at  once  remembered  that  which  at 
the  time  it  had  happened,  Sherston  had  every  reason  to  tell  rather 
than  to  conceal,  namely,  that  the  woman  who  had  been  his  wife  had 
gone  down  with  the  Titanic. 

But  how  long  ago  that  now  seemed ! 

The  outbreak  of  war,  which  caused  so  much  unmerited  misfor- 
tune to  English  artists  and  their  like,  and  which  at  one  moment  had 
threatened  to  wreck  his  own  successful  opening  career,  had  brought 
to  Shirley  Sherston  a  piece  of  marvelous  good  fortune. 

Early  in  that  memorable  August,  1914,  at  a  time  when  the  fabric 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES  89 

of  his  life  and  work  seemed  shattered,  and  when  the  lameness  which 
he  had  so  triumphantly  coped  with  during  his  grown  up  life  as  to 
cause  those  about  him  scarcely  to  know  it  was  there,  made  it  out 
of  the  question  for  him  to  respond  to  his  country's  first  caU  for 
men,  the  architect  happened  to  run  across  James  Pomeroy,  a  cul- 
tivated millionaire  with  whom  he  liad  once  had  a  slight  business 
relation.  Acting  on  a  kindly  impulse  which  even  now  Mr.  Pom- 
eroy hardly  knew  whether  to  remember  with  pleasure  or  regret, 
the  older  man  had  pressed  the  younger  to  spend  a  week  in  a  country 
house  which  he  had  taken  for  the  summer  near  London. 

That  was  now  fourteen  months  ago,  but  Sherston,  standing  there, 
remembered  as  if  it  had  happened  yesterday,  his  first  sight  of  the 
girl  who  was  to  become  his  wife  to-morrow.  Helen  Pomeroy  had 
been  standing  on  a  brick  patli  bordered  with  hollyhocks,  and  she 
had  smiled,  a  little  shyly  and  gravely,  at  her  father's  rather  eccen- 
tric-looking guest.  But  on  that  war-summer  morning  she  had 
appeared  to  the  stranger  as  does  a  mirage  of  spring  water  to  a  man 
who  is  dying  of  thirst  in  the  desert. 

Up  to  that  time  Sherston  had  always  supposed  himself  to  be 
attracted  to  small  women.  He  was  a  big,  fair  man,  with  loosely 
hung  limbs,  and  his  wife — poor  little  baggage — had  been  a  tiny 
creature,  vixenish  at  her  worst,  kittenish  at  her  best.  But  Helen 
Pomeroy  was  tall,  with  the  noble  proportions  and  tapering  limbs 
of  a  goddess,  and  gradually — not  for  some  time,  for  all  social  life 
was  dislocated  in  England  during  that  strange  summer — Sherston 
became  aware,  with  a  kind  of  angry  revolt  of  soul,  that  he  was  but 
one  of  many  worshipers  at  the  shrine. 

Following  an  irresistible  impulse,  he  early  in  their  acquaintance 
told  Helen  Pomeroy  more  of  himself  than  he  had  ever  told  any 
other  human  being;  and  his  confidences  at  last  included  a  bowdler- 


90  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ized  account  of  his  wretched  marriage.  But  though  they  soon 
became  friends,  and  though  he  went  on  seeing  a  great  deal  of  her, 
all  through  that  autumn  and  winter,  Sherston  feared  to  put  his 
fate  to  the  touch,  and  he  was  jealous — God  alone  knew  how  hid- 
eously, intolerably  jealous — of  the  khaki-clad  soldiers  who  came 
and  went  in  her  father's  house  in  town. 

And  then,  one  day,  during  the  second  summer  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, a  word  let  drop  by  Mr.  Pomeroy,  who  had  become  fond  of 
the  odd,  restless  feUow,  opened  a  pit  before  Sherston's  feet.  It 
was  a  word  implying  tliat  now,  at  last,  Helen's  father  and  mother 
hoped  she  would  "make  up  her  mind."  A  very  distinguished 
soldier,  whom  she  had  refused  as  a  girl  of  twenty,  had  come 
back  unchanged,  after  six  years,  from  India,  and  Helen,  or 
so  her  parents  hoped  and  thought,  was  seriously  tliinking  of 
him. 

Sherston  had  kept  away.  He  had  even  left  two  of  her  letters — 
the  rather  formal  letters  which  had  come  to  mean  so  very  much  in 
his  life — unanswered.  A  fortnight  had  gone  by,  and  then  there 
had  reached  him  a  prim  little  note  from  Mrs.  Pomeroy,  asking 
him  why  he  had  not  been  to  see  them  lately.  There  was  a  post- 
script: "If  you  do  not  come  soon,  you  will  not  see  my  daughter. 
She  has  not  been  well,  and  we  are  thinking  of  sending  her  up  to 
Scotland,  to  friends  who  are  in  Skye,  for  a  good  long  holiday." 

He  had  gone  to  Cadogan  Square  (it  was  August  13th)  as  quicklv 
as  a  taxi  could  take  him,  and  by  a  blessed  stroke  of  luck  he  had 
found  Miss  Pomeroy  alone.  In  a  flash  all  had  come  right  between 
them.  That  had  only  been  nine  weeks  ago,  and  now  they  were  to 
be  married  to-morrow  .  .  . 

Sherston  had  been  standing  a  long  time  at  that  casement  of  his 
which  commanded  the  huge  gray  mass  of  Somerset  House,  when 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES  91 

at  last  he  turned  round,  and  went  quickly  across  the  room  to  the 
other,  western,  window. 

Even  in  the  gathering  darkness  what  a  faery  view  was  there! 
Glad  as  he  was  to  know  tliat  after  to-night  he  would  never  again 
see  this  living  room  in  its  present  familiar  guise — for  he  had 
arranged  with  a  furniture  dealer  to  come  and  take  everything  left 
in  it  away,  within  an  hour  of  his  departure — he  told  himself  that 
never  again  could  he  hope  to  live  with  such  a  view  as  that  on  which 
he  was  gazing  out  now. 

The  yellowing  branches  of  the  trees  which  have  tlieir  roots  deep 
in  the  graveyard  of  the  old  Savoy  Chapel  formed,  even  in  mid- 
October,  a  delicious  screen  of  living,  moving  leaves.  Far  below, 
to  his  left,  ran  the  river  Thames,  its  rushing  waters  full  of  a  mys- 
terious, darksome  beauty,  and  illumined,  here  and  there,  with  the 
quivering  reflection  of  shadowed  white,  green  and  red  lights. 
Sherston  in  his  heart  often  blessed  the  Zeppelin  scare  which  had 
banished  the  monstrous,  flaring  signs  which,  till  a  few  months  ago, 
had  so  off"ended  his  eyes  each  time  that  he  looked  out  into  the  night, 
towards  the  water. 

The  lease  of  a  fine  old  house  in  Cheyne  Walk  had  been  chosen 
by  Mr.  Pomeroy  as  his  daughter's  wedding  gift,  and  already  cer- 
tain of  Sherston's  personal  possessions  had  been  moved  there.  But 
he  was  taking  with  him  as  little  as  was  possible,  and  practically 
nothing  from  this  memory-haunted  room. 

It  was  the  big,  light,  airy,  loft-like  apartment  which  had  attracted 
him  in  these  chambers  fifteen  years  ago,  when  he  had  first  come  to 
London  from  the  Midlands,  at  the  age  of  three-and-twenty.  It 
was  here,  five  years  later,  that  he  had  come  straight  back  from  tlie 
Soho  Registry  Office  with  the  young  woman  whom  he  had  quixot- 
ically drawn  up  out  of  a  world — the  nether  world — where  she  had 
been  happier  than  she  could  ever  hope  to  become  with  him.     For 


92  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Kitty  Brawle — her  very  surname  was  symbolic — was  one  of  those 
doomed  creatures  who  love  the  mud,  who  never  really  wish  to  leave 
tlie  mud — who  feel  scraped  and  sad  when  clean. 

Unhappy  Sherston !  The  noblest  thing  he  had  ever  done,  or  was 
ever  likely  to  do,  in  his  life,  proved,  for  a  time  at  least,  his  un- 
doing. Kitty  had  made  him  from  generous  mean,  from  unsus- 
pecting suspicious,  and  during  the  wretched  year  they  had  spent 
together  she  had  had  a  disastrous  effect  on  his  work.  At  last, 
acting  on  the  shrewd  advice  of  one  of  those  instinctive  men  of  the 
world  of  which  Bohemia  is  full,  he  had  bought  her  a  billet  in  a 
theatrical  touring  company.  There,  by  an  extraordinary  chance, 
Kitty  made  a  tiny  hit — sufficiently  of  a  hit  to  bring  her  from  an 
American  impresario  a  creditable  offer,  contingent  on  her  fare 
being  paid  to  the  States. 

Gladly,  how  gladly  only  he  himself  had  known — Sherston  had 
taken  her  passage  in  the  Titanic,  Kitty's  own  characteristic 
choice  of  a  boat.  And  he  had  done  more.  Though  short  of 
money,  he  had  given  Kitty  a  hundred  poimds. 

Four  days  after  their  parting  had  come  the  astounding  news  of 
the  sinking  of  the  liner,  followed,  for  Sherston,  by  a  period  of 
strange,  painful  suspense,  filled  with  the  eager  scanning  of  lists, 
cables  to  and  from  America,  finally  terminated  by  an  official  inti- 
mation that  poor  Kitty  had  gone  down  in,  and  with,  the  ship. 

Sherston's  imagination  was  inconveniently  vivid,  and  for  a  few 
poignant  weeks  his  wife's  horrible  end  haunted  him.  But  after 
a  while  he  forced  himself  to  take  a  long  holiday  in  Greece,  and 
from  there  he  came  back  with  his  nerves  in  better  order  than  they 
had  ever  been. 

Fate,  which  so  seldom  interferes  with  kindly  intention  in  the 
lives  of  men,  had  cut  what  had  become  a  strangling  knot,  and 
Kitty,  from  a  dreadful,  never-forgotten  burden,  had  become  a 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES  93 

rather  touching,  piteous  memory,  growing  ever  dimmer  as  first 
the  months,  and  then  tlie  years,  slipped  by. 

Even  so,  her  ghost  sufficiently  often  haunted  this  large  room, 
and  the  otlier  apartments  which  composed  Sherston's  set  of  cham- 
bers, to  make  him  determine  that  Miss  Pomeroy  should  never  come 
there.  And  she,  being  in  this  as  unlike  other,  commonplace, 
young  woman  as  she  was  in  everything  else,  had  never  put  him  to 
the  pain  of  finding  an  insincere  excuse  for  his  unwillingness  to 
show  her  the  place  in  which  he  lived  and  worked.  .  .  . 

The  coming  night  stretched  long  and  bleak  before  to-morrow's 
bridegroom.  There  were  fourteen  hours  to  live  through  before 
he  could  even  see  Helen,  for  the  time  of  the  marriage  had  been 
fixed  for  eleven  o'clock. 

Sherston  was  not  looking  forward  to  the  actual  ceremony — no 
man  ever  does;  and  though  it  was  to  be  a  war  wedding,  a  great 
many  people,  as  he  was  ruefully  aware,  had  been  bidden  to  the 
ceremony.  But  it  was  comfortable  to  know  that  none  of  the  guests 
had  been  asked  to  go  back  to  tlie  house  from  which  he  and  his  bride 
were  to  start  for  Sussex  at  one  o'clock,  in  the  motor  which  was  Mrs. 
Pomeroy 's  marriage  gift  to  her  daughter. 

Suddenly  Sherston  discovered  tliat  he  was  very  hungry!  He 
had  lunched  in  Cadogan  Square  at  a  quarter  to  two,  but  he  had  felt 
too  inwardly  excited  in  that  queer  atmosphere  of  tears  and  laugh- 
ter, of  trousseau  and  wedding  presents,  to  eat. 

Even  the  least  earthly  of  Romantics  cannot  forget  for  long  the 
claims  of  the  flesh,  and  so,  smiling  a  little  wryly  in  the  darkness, 
he  now  told  himself  that  the  best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  go  out 
and  get  some  supper.  Acquainted  with  all  the  eating  houses  in 
the  region,  he  was  glad  indeed  tliat  after  to-night  he  would  never 
have  to  enter  one  again. 


94  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Pulling  down  the  green  blind  in  front  of  him,  Sherston  walked 
across  the  room  and  pulled  down  the  blind  of  the  other  window, 
for  the  London  lighting  orders  had  become  much  stricter  of  late. 
Then  he  turned  on  the  electric  light  switch,  took  up  his  hat  and 
stick,  and  went  out  into  the  little  lobby. 

Before  him  was  a  narrow  aperture  which  opened  straight  on  to 
the  steep,  short  flight  of  steps  connecting  his  chambers  with  the 
stone  staircase  of  the  big  old  house.  This  latter-like  set  of  steps 
had  a  door  top  and  bottom,  but  the  lower  door,  which  gave  on  to  the 
landing,  was  generally  left  open.  Turning  out  the  light  in  the 
lobby,  Sherston  put  his  left  hand  on  the  bannister  and  slid  down 
in  the  darkness,  taking  the  dozen  steps  as  it  were  in  one  stride. 

As  he  reached  the  bottom  he  suddenly  became  aware  that  the 
door  before  him,  that  giving  on  to  the  landing,  was  shut,  and  that 
some  one,  almost  certainly  a  child — for  there  was  not  room  on  the 
mat  for  a  full-grown  person — was  crouching  down  just  within 
the  door. 

Sherston  felt  sharply,  perhaps  unreasonably,  irritated.  Known 
in  the  neighborhood  as  open-handed  and  kindly,  it  had  sometimes 
happened,  but  generally  only  in  wintry  weather,  that  he  had  come 
home  to  find  some  poor  waif  lying  in  wait  for  him.  Man,  woman 
or  child  who  had  wandered  in,  maybe,  before  the  big  door  down- 
stairs was  closed,  or  who,  if  still  blessed  with  some  outer  sem- 
blance of  gentility,  had  managed  cunningly  to  get  past  the  Cerberus 
who  lived  in  the  basement,  and  whose  duty  it  was  to  open  the  front 
door,  after  eight  at  night,  to  non-residents. 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  for  half-a-crown,  and  then,  pretending  still 
to  be  unaware  that  there  was  any  one  there,  he  fumbled  for  the 
spring  lock. 

The  door  burst  open — he  saw  before  him  the  shaft  of  glimmer- 
ing whiteness  shed  by  the  skylight,  for  since  the  Zeppelin  raid  of 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES  95 

the  month  before,  the  staircase  was  always  left  in  darkness — and 
the  figure  of  his  unknown  guest  rolled  over,  picked  itself  up,  and 
stood  revealed,  a  woman,  not  a  child,  as  he  had  at  first  thought. 
And  then  a  feeling  of  sick,  shrinking  fear  came  over  Sherston,  for 
there  fell  on  his  ears  the  once  horribly  familiar  accents — plaintive, 
wheedling,  falsely  timorous — of  his  dead  wife's  voice  .  .  . 

"Is  that  you,  Shirley?  I  didn't  know  that  you  was  at  home. 
The  windows  were  all  dark,  and — "  In  an  injured  tone  this: 
"I've  been  waiting  here  ever  so  long  for  you  to  come  in!" 

The  wraith-like  figure  before  him  was  only  too  clearly  flesh  and 
blood,  and,  as  he  stepped  forward,  it  moved  quickly  across,  and 
stood,  barring  his  way,  on  the  top  stone  step  of  the  big  staircase. 

Sherston  remained  silent.  He  could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 
But  his  mind  began  to  work  with  extraordinary  rapidity  and 
lucidity. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do,  here  and  now.  That  was  to 
give  the  woman  standing  there  a  little  money — not  much — and  tell 
her  to  come  back  again  the  next  day.  Having  thus  got  rid  of  her 
— he  knew  that  on  no  account  must  she  be  allowed  to  stay  here  the 
night — he  must  go  at  once  to  Mr.  Pomeroy  and  tell  him  of  this 
terrible,  hitherto  unimaginable,  calamity.  He  told  himself  that 
it  would  be,  if  not  exactly  easy,  then  certainly  possible  to  arrange 
a  divorce. 

Determinedly,  in  these  tense,  terrible  moments,  he  refused  to 
let  himself  face  the  coming  anguish  and  dismay  of  the  morrow. 
It  was  just  a  blow,  straight  between  the  eyes  from  fate — that  fate 
who  he  had  foolishly  thought  had  been  kind. 

"Well?     Are  you  going  to  let  me  stand  here  all  night?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  Wait  a  minute — I'm  thinking."  He  spoke 
in  a  quick,  hoarse  tone,  a  tone  alas!  which  Kitty  at  one  time  in  their 
joint  lives  had  come  to  associate  with  deep  feeling  on  his  part. 


96  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

in  those  days  when  she  used  to  come  and  tell  the  lonely  man  of  her 
sorrows,  of  her  temptations,  and  of  her  vague,  upward  aspira- 
tions. .  .  . 

She  lurched  a  little  towards  him.  Everything  was  going  far 
better  than  she  could  have  hoped;  why,  Sherston  did  not  seem 
angry,  hardly  annoyed,  at  her  imheralded  return! 

Suddenly  he  felt  her  thin,  strong  arms  closing  round  his  body, 
in  a  horrible  vice-like  grip — 

"Don't  touch  me!"  he  cried  fiercely;  and  making  a  greater 
physical  effort  than  he  would  have  thought  himself  capable  of, 
he  shook  himself  violently  free. 

He  saw  her  reel  backwards  and  fall,  with  a  queer  grotesque 
movement,  head  over  heels  down  the  stone  steps.  The  dull  thud 
her  body  made  as  she  fell  on  the  half  landing  echoed  up  and 
down  the  bare  well  of  the  staircase. 

Sherston's  heart  smote  him.  He  had  not  meant  to  do  that. 
Then  he  reminded  himself  bitterly  that  drimkards  always  fall 
soft.     She  could  not  have  hurt  herself  much,  falling  that  little  way. 

He  waited  a  few  moments;  then,  as  she  made  no  effort  to  raise 
herself,  he  walked  down,  slowly,  unwillingly,  towards  her.  From 
the  little  he  could  see  in  the  dim  light  cast  from  above,  Kitty 
was  lying  very  oddly,  all  in  a  heap,  her  head  against  the  wall. 

He  knelt  down  by  her  side. 

"Kitty,"  he  said  quietly.  "Try  and  get  up.  I'm  sorry  if  I 
hurt  you,  but  you  took  me  by  surprise.     I — I — " 

But  there  came  no  word,  no  moan  even,  in  answer. 

He  felt  for  her  limp  hand,  and  held  it  a  moment,  but  it  lay  in 
his,  inertly.  Filled  with  a  queer,  growing  fear,  he  struck  a  match, 
bent  down,  and  saw,  for  the  first  time  that  night,  her  face.  It 
looked  older,  incredibly  older,  than  when  he  had  last  seen  it,  five 
years  ago!     The  hair  near  the  temples  had  turned  gray.     Her 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES  97 

eyes  were  wide  open — and  even  as  he  looked  earnestly  into  her 
face,  her  jaw  suddenly  dropped.  He  started  back  widi  an  extraor- 
dinary feeling  of  mingled  fear  and  repugnance. 

Striking  match  after  match  as  he  went,  he  rushed  up  again  into 
his  chambers,  and  looked  about  for  a  hand  mirror.  ,  .  .  He  failed 
to  find  one,  and  at  last  he  brought  down  his  shaving  glass. 

With  shaking  hands  he  laid  it  close  against  that  hideous,  gaping 
mouth,  for  five  long  dragging  minutes.  The  glass  remained  clear, 
untarnished. 

Putting  a  great  constraint  on  himself,  he  forced  himself  to  move 
her  head.  And  then  the  truth  came  to  him!  In  that  strange  short 
fall  Kitty  had  broken  her  neck.  For  the  second  time  he  was  free. 
But  this  time  her  death,  instead  of  cutting  a  knot,  bound  him  as 
with  cords  of  twisted  steel  to  shame,  and  yes,  to  deadly  peril. 

Slowly  he  got  up  from  his  knees.  Unless  he  went  and  jumped 
over  the  parapet  of  the  Embankment  into  the  river — a  possibility 
which  he  grimly  envisaged  for  a  few  moments — he  knew  that  the 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  go  off  at  once  for  the  police,  and  make,  as 
the  saying  is,  a  clean  breast  of  it.  After  all  he  was  innocent — 
innocent  of  even  a  secret  desire  of  encompassing  Kitty's  death. 
But  would  it  be  possible  to  make  even  the  indifferent,  when  aware 
of  all  the  circumstances,  believe  that?  Yes,  there  was  one  such 
human  being — and  as  he  thought  of  her  his  heart  glowed  with 
gratitude  to  God  for  having  made  her  known  to  him.  Helen  would 
believe  him,  Helen  would  understand  everything — and  nothing  else 
really  mattered.  It  was  curious  how  the  thought  of  Helen,  which 
had  been  agony  an  hour  ago,  now  filled  him  with  a  kind  of  stead- 
fast comfort. 

As  Sherston  turned  to  go  down  the  staircase,  there  came  the 
distant  sound  of  the  bursting  of  a  motor  tire,  and  tlie  unhappy 


98  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

man  started  violently.  His  nerves  were  now  in  pieces,  but  he 
remembered,  as  he  went  down  the  stone  steps,  to  feel  in  one  of  his 
pockets,  to  be  sure  he  had  what  he  so  seldom  used,  a  card-case 
on  him. 

On  reaching  the  front  door  he  was  surprised  to  find  it  open, 
and  to  see  just  within  the  hall,  their  white  caps  and  pale  faces 
dimly  illumined  by~  the  little  light  that  glimmered  in  from  outside, 
two  trained  nurses  with  bags  in  their  hands.  They  were  talking 
eagerly,  and  took  no  notice  of  him  as  he  passed. 

For  a  moment  Sherston  wondered  whether  he  ought  to  tell  them 
of  the  terrible  accident  which  had  just  happened  upstairs — but 
after  a  momentary  hesitation  he  decided  that  it  would  be  better 
to  go  straight  off  to  the  Police  Station.  Already  his  excited  brain 
saw  a  nurse  standing  in  the  witness-box  at  a  trial  where  he  himself 
stood  in  the  dock  on  a  charge  of  murder.  So,  past  the  two  whis- 
pering women,  he  hurried  out  into  the  darkness. 

Even  in  the  grievous  state  of  mental  distress  in  which  he  now 
found  himself,  Sherston  noticed  that  the  street  lamps  were  turned 
so  low  that  there  only  shone  out,  under  their  green  shades,  pallid 
spots  of  light.  And  as  he  stumbled  across  the  curb  of  the  pave- 
ment, he  told  himself,  with  irritation,  that  that  was  really  rather 
absurd!  More  accidents  proceeded  from  the  absence  of  light  than 
were  ever  likely  to  be  caused  by  Zeppelins. 

Perforce  walking  warily,  he  hastened  towards  the  Strand. 
There  was  less  traffic  than  usual,  fewer  people,  too,  on  the  pave- 
ment, but  it  was  just  after  nine  o'clock,  the  quietest  time  of  the 
evening. 

Suddenly  a  huge  column  of  flame  shot  up  some  thirty  yards  in 
front  of  him,  and  then  (it  seemed  to  all  to  happen  in  a  moment) 
a  line  of  men,  police  and  special  constables,  spread  across  the 
thoroughfare  in  which  he  now  was,  barring  oflf  the  Strand. 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES  99 

Sherston  quickened  his  footsteps.  For  a  moment  his  own  dis- 
turbed and  fearsome  thoughts  were  banished  by  the  extraordinary 
and  exciting  sight  before  him.  Higher  and  higher  mounted  the 
pillar  of  fire,  throwing  a  sinister  glare  on  the  buildings,  high 
and  low,  new  and  old,  round  about  it.  "Good  Heavens!"  he 
exclaimed  involuntarily.  "Is  that  the  Lyceum  on  fire?"  A  po- 
liceman near  whom  he  was  now  standing,  turned  round  and  said 
shortly,  "Can't  say,  I'm  sure,  sir." 

He  witnessed  in  the  next  few  minutes  a  strange  scene  of  con- 
fusion, of  hurrying  and  scurrying  hither  and  thither.  Where 
there  had  been  almost  pitch  darkness,  was  now  a  glittering,  bril- 
liant bath  of  light,  in  which  tlie  figures  of  men  and  women,  moving 
swiftly  to  and  fro,  appeared  like  animated  silhouettes.  But  even 
as  he  stared  before  him  at  the  extraordinary  Hogarthian  vision, 
the  roadway  and  the  pavements  of  the  Strand  became  strangely 
and  suddenly  deserted,  while  he  began  to  hear  tlie  hoot,  hoot  of  the 
fire-engines  galloping  to  the  scene  of  the  disaster.  Before  him 
the  line  of  police  and  of  special  constables  remained  imbrokcn, 
and  barred  his  further  progress. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  past  the  theater,"  he  whispered  urgently.  "I 
only  want  to  get  to  Bow  Street,  as  quickly  as  possible,  on  a  very 
important  matter."  He  slipped  the  half-crown  he  had  meant  to 
give  the  waif  he  had  taken  Kitty  to  be,  into  a  policeman's  hand, 
and  though  the  man  shook  his  head  he  let  him  through. 

Sherston  shot  down  the  Strand,  to  his  left.  Almost  filling  up 
the  steep,  lane-like  street  which  leads  down  to  the  Savoy  Hotel, 
were  rows  of  ambulances,  groups  of  nurses,  and  Red  Cross  men, 
and  absorbed  though  he  was  once  more  in  his  own  sensations,  and 
the  thought  of  the  terrible  ordeal  that  lay  in  front  of  him,  Sherston 
yet  found  himself  admiring  the  quickness  with  which  they  had 
been  rushed  hither. 


100     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

On  he  went,  and  crossed  the  empty  roadway.  How  strange 
that  so  little  attention  was  being  paid  to  the  fire!  Instead  of  a 
hurrying  mob  of  men  and  women,  the  Strand  was  now  extraor- 
dinarily empty,  both  of  people  and  of  vehicles,  and  now  and  again 
he  could  hear  the  sound  of  knocking,  of  urgent  knocking,  as  of 
some  one  who  has  been  locked  out,  and  is  determined  to  be  let  in. 

He  strode  quickly  along,  feeling  his  way  somewhat,  for  apart 
from  the  reflection  of  the  red  sky,  it  was  pitch  dark  in  the  side 
streets,  and  soon  he  stood  before  the  Police  Station.  The  big  old- 
fashioned  building  was  just  within  the  outer  circle  of  light  cast  by 
the  huge  fire  whose  fierceness  seemed  to  increase  rather  than  di- 
minish, and  Sherston  suddenly  espied  an  Inspector  standing  half  in 
the  open  door.  "I've  some  very  urgent  business,"  he  said  hur- 
riedly. "Could  you  come  inside  for  a  moment,  and  take  down  a 
statement?" 

"What's  your  business  about?"  said  the  man  sharply,  and  in 
the  wavering  light  Sherston  thought  his  face  looked  oddly  dis- 
traught and  pale. 

"There's  a  woman  lying  dead  at  No.  19  Peter  the  Great  Ter- 
race," began  Sherston  curtly — 

The  man  bent  forward.  "There's  many  women  already  lying 
dead  about  here,  sir,  and  likely  to  be  more — babies  and  children 
too — before  we're  through  with  this  hellish  business!"  he  said 
grimly.  "If  she's  dead,  poor  thing,  we  can  do  nothing  for  her. 
But  if  you  think  there's  any  life  left  in  her — well,  you'll  find 
plenty  of  ambulances,  as  well  as  doctors  and  nurses,  down  Strand 
way.  But  if  I  was  you,  I'd  wait  a  bit  before  going  back.  They're 
still  about — "  and  even  as  he  uttered  the  word  "about"  he  started 
back  into  the  shelter  of  the  building,  pulling  Sherston  roughly  in 
with  him  as  he  did  so,  and  there  came  a  loud,  dull  report,  curi- 
ously  analogous  to  that  which   a  quarter   of  an   hour  ago — it 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES         101 

seemed  hours  rather  than  minutes — Sherston  had  taken  for  the 
bursting  of  a  motor  tire.  But  this  time  the  sound  was  at  once 
followed  by  that  of  shattered  glass,  and  of  falling  masonry. 

"Good  God ! "  he  cried.     "What's  that?" 

"A  goodish  lot  of  damage  diis  time,  I  should  think,"  said  the 
Inspector  tlioughtfully.  "Though  they're  doing  wonderfully  little 
considering  how  they — " 

"They?" 

"Zeppelins,  of  course,  sir!  \^Tiy,  didn't  you  guess  that?  They 
say  there're  two  over  us  if  not  three."  Then  in  a  voice,  so  changed, 
so  charged  with  relief,  that  his  own  mother  would  not  have  known 
it  for  the  same,  the  man  exclaimed,  "Look  up,  sir — there  they  are! 
And  they're  off — the  hellish  things!"  And  Sherston,  throwing  up 
his  head,  did  indeed  see  what  looked  to  his  astonished  eyes  like 
two  beautiful  golden  trout  swimming  across  the  sky  just  above 
him. 

As  he  stood  awestruck,  fascinated  at  tlie  astounding  sight,  he 
also  saw  what  looked  like  a  falling  star  shoot  down  from  one  of 
the  Zeppelins,  and  again  diere  fell  on  his  ears  that  strange  ex- 
plosive thud. 

The  man  by  his  side  uttered  a  stifled  oath.  "There's  another 
— let's  hope  it's  the  last  in  this  district!"  he  exclaimed.  "See! 
They're  off  down  the  river  now!" 

Even  as  he  sa'd  the  words  the  space  in  front  of  the  Police  Sta- 
tion was  suddenly  filled  with  a  surging  mass  of  people,  men, 
women,  even  children,  making  their  way  Strand  ward,  to  see  all 
that  there  was  to  see,  now  that  the  immediate  danger  was  past. 

"If  I  were  you,  sir,  I  think  I'd  stay  here  quietly  a  bit,  till  the 
crowd  has  thinned,  and  been  driven  back.  I  take  it  you  can't 
do  that  poor  woman  of  whom  you  spoke  just  now  any  good — 
I  take  it  she's  dead,  sir?"  the  Inspector  spoke  very  feelingly. 


102     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"Yes,  she  certainly  is  dead,"  said  Sherston  dully. 

"Well,  I  must  be  going  now,  but  if  you  like  to  stay  here  a  while, 
I'm  sure  you're  welcome,  sir." 

"No,"  said  Sherston.  "I  think  I'll  go  out  and  see  whether  I 
can  do  anything  to  help." 

The  two  passed  out  into  the  roadway,  and  took  their  place 
among  the  slowly  moving  people  there,  the  Inspector  making  a 
way  for  himself  and  his  companion  through  the  excited,  talkative, 
good-humored  Cockney  crowd.  "There  it  is!  Can't  you  see  it? 
Up  there  just  like  a  little  yellow  worm."  "There's  naught  at  all! 
You've  got  the  cobble-wobbles!"  and  then  a  ripple  of  laughter. 

Sherston  was  borne  along  with  the  human  stream,  and  with  that 
stream  he  suddenly  foimd  himself  stopped  at  the  westward  end  of 
Wellington  Street.  Over  the  heads  of  the  people  before  him — 
they  were,  oddly  enough,  mostly  women — he  could  see  the  column 
of  flame  still  burning  steadily  upwards,  and  scarcely  afi^ected  at 
all  by  the  huge  jets  of  water  now  playing  on  it. 

It  seemed  to  start  from  the  ground,  a  massive  pillar  of  fire, 
and  all  roimd  it  was  an  empty  space — a  zone  no  human  being 
could  approach  for  fear  of  being  at  once  roasted  and  shriveled 
up  to  death.  "The  bomb  got  down  to  the  big  gas  main,"  observed 
a  voice  close  to  him.  "It'U  be  days  before  they  get  that  fire 
under!" 

He,  Sherston,  felt  marvelously  calm.  This  strange,  awful  visi- 
tation had  made  for  him  a  breathing  space  in  which  to  reconsider 
what  he  hid  better  do,  and  suddenly  he  decided  that  he  would  go 
and  consult  Mr.  Pomeroy.  But  before  doing  that  he  must  force 
himself  to  go  back  and  fetch  certain  documents  which  fortunately 
he  had  kept.  .  .  . 

He  made  his  way,  with  a  great  deal  of  difficulty — for  it  was  as 
if  all  London  had  by  now  flocked  to  this  one  afflicted  area — by  a 


GREAT  BRITAIN— MRS.  LOWNDES         103 

circuitous  way  to  the  Strand.  Tramping  through  a  six-inch-deep 
flood  of  broken  glass  he  made  his  way  by  the  Embankment  and 
the  Waterloo  Bridge  steps  to  the  upper  level,  that  leading  to,  and 
past,  Peter  the  Great  Terrace. 

A  vast  host  was  now  westward  from  over  the  river,  and  he  felt 
the  electric  currents  of  joyous  excitement,  retrospective  fear,  and, 
above  all,  of  eager,  almost  ferocious,  curiosity,  linking  up  rap- 
idly about  him.  The  rough  and  ready  cordon  of  special  constables 
seemed  powerless  to  dam  the  human  tide,  and  caught  in  that 
tide's  eddies,  Sherston  struggled  helplessly. 

"Let  me  tlirough,"  he  shouted  at  last.     "I  must  get  through!" 

"You  can't  get  through  just  here — there's  a  house  been  struck  in 
Peter  the  Great  Terrace!     'Twas  the  last  bomb  did  it!" 

Sherston  uttered  a  groan — Ah!  If  only  that  were  true!  But 
he  had  just  now  glanced  up  and  seen  the  row  of  big  substantial 
eighteenth  century  houses,  of  which  his  was  the  end  one,  solidly 
outlined  against  the  star-powdered  sky,  though  every  pane  of  glass 
had  been  blown  out. 

Then  some  one  turned  round.  "It's  the  comer  house  been 
struck.  Bomb  fell  right  through  the  skylight.  They've  sent  for 
the  firemen  to  see  what  damage  was  done.  You  can't  see  anything 
from  this  side." 

Through  the  skylight? 

Sherston  was  a  powerful  man.  He  forced  his  way,  he  did  not 
know  how,  blindly,  to  the  very  front  of  the  crowd. 

Yes,  there  were  two  firemen  standing  by  the  low,  sunk-in  door, 
that  door  through  which  he  had  come  and  gone  hundreds,  nay 
thousands,  of  times,  in  his  life.  So  much  was  true,  but  every- 
thing else  was  as  usual.  "I  live  here,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Will 
you  let  me  through?" 

The  fireman  shook  his  head.     "No,  sir.     I  can't  let  any  one 


104     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

through.  And  if  I  did  'twould  be  no  good.  The  staircase  is 
clean  gone — a  great  big  stone  staircase,  too!  It's  all  in  bits,  just 
like  a  lot  of  rubble.  The  front  of  the  house  ain't  touched,  but 
the  center  and  behind — well,  sir,  you  never  did  see  such  a  sight!" 

"Any  one  hurt?"  asked  Sherston  in  a  strangled  tone.  He  felt 
a  most  extraordinary  physical  sensation  of  lightness — of — of — 
was  it  dissolution? — sweep  over  his  mind  and  body.  He  heard 
as  in  a  far  away  dream  the  answer  to  his  question. 

"There  was  no  one  in  the  house  at  all,  from  what  we  can  make 
out.  The  caretaker  had  a  lucky  escape,  or  he'd  be  buried  alive 
by  now,  but  he  and  his  missus  had  already  gone  out  to  see  the 
sights." 

A  moment  later  the  fireman  was  holding  Sherston  in  his  big 
brawny  arms,  and  shouting  "An  ambulance  this  way — send  along 
a  nurse  please — gentleman's  fainted!"  The  crowd  parted  eagerly, 
respectfully.  "Poor  feller!"  exclaimed  one  woman  in  half  piteous, 
half  furious  tones.  "Those  damned  Germans — they've  gone  and 
destroyed  the  poor  chap's  little  all.  I  heard  him  explaining  just 
now  as  what  he  lived  here!" 


CANADA— CONNOR  105 

A  CANADIAN  SOLDIER'S  DOMINION  DAY  AT 
SHORNCLIFFE 

"TS  THERE  a  holiday  next  Thursday?"    inquired  a  Canadian 
J.   officer  of  an  Bjiglish  confrere. 

"A  holiday?     Not  that  I  know  of.     Why  should  there  be?" 
"Why?     Because  it's  Dominion  Day." 
"Dominion  Day?"  blankly  echoed  the  English  OITicer. 
"Yes!     Did  you  never  hear  of  it,  you  benighted  Islander?" 
"I  really  am  afraid  not,"  replied  the  English  Officer,  convicted 

by  the  Canadian's  tone  of  nothing  less  than  crime.     "Just  what 

is  it?" 

"Perhaps  you  have  never  heard  of  Canada?" 

"Well,  rather,  we  hear  somediing  of  Canada  these  days." 

Then,  as  the  light  began  to  break  in  on  his  darkened  soul,  "Ah, 
I  see,  that  is  your  Canadian  National  Day,  is  it  not?" 

"It  is.     And  the  question  is  'Are  wc  going  to  have  a  holiday?'  " 

"Well,  you  see  the  King  specially  requested  that  there  be  no 
holiday  on  his  birthday." 

"The  King's  birtliday!  Oh,  that's  all  right— but  this  is  differ- 
ent, you  see." 

The  Englishman  looked  mildly  surprised. 

"Oh,  the  King's  all  right,"  continued  the  Canadian,  answering 
tlie  other's  look,  "we  think  a  lot  of  him  these  days.  But — you 
know — Dominion  Day — " 

"I  hope  you  may  get  it,  old  chap,  but  I  fancy  we  are  in  for  the 
usual  grind." 

The  Canadian  officer  had  little  objection  to  the  grind  nor  had 
his  men.  The  Canadians  eat  up  work.  But  somehow  it  did  not 
seem  right  that  the  1st  of  July  slide  past  without  celebration  of  any 


106     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

kind.  He  had  memories  of  that  day,  of  its  early  morning  hours 
when  a  kid  he  used  to  steal  down  stairs  to  let  off  a  few  firecrackers 
from  his  precious  bunch  just  to  see  how  they  would  go.  Latterly 
he  had  not  cared  for  the  fireworks  part  of  it  except  for  the  Kiddies. 
But  somehow  he  was  conscious  of  a  new  interest  in  Canada's  birth- 
day. Perhaps  because  Canada  was  so  far  away  and  the  Kiddies 
would  be  wanting  some  one  to  set  off  their  crackers.  It  was  good 
to  be  in  England,  the  beautiful  old  motherland,  but  it  was  not  Can- 
ada and  it  did  not  seem  right  that  Canada's  birthday  should  be 
allowed  to  pass  unmarked.  So  too  thought  tlie  Commandant  of  the 
Shomcliffe  Camp,  a  right  good  Canadian  he. 

"I  have  arranged  a  Tattoo  for  the  evening,"  he  announced  in 
conversation  with  the  Canadian  Officer  the  day  before  the  First. 

"What  about  a  holiday.  Colonel?"  The  Commandant  shook  his 
head. 

"Well,  then,  a  half-holiday?" 

"No.  At  least,"  remembering  the  officer's  ancestry  and  that  he 
was  a  Canadian  Highlander,  "not  officially,  whateffer." 

"Shall  I  get  a  rope  for  the  Tug  of  War,  do  you  think?" 

"I  think,"  replied  the  Commandant  slowly  with  a  wink  in  his 
left  eye,  "you  might  get  the  rope." 

This  was  sufficient  encouragement  for  the  43rd  to  go  on  with 
and  so  the  rope  was  got  and  vaulting  pole  and  standards  with  other 
appurtenances  of  a  day  of  sports.  And  the  preparations  went 
bravely  on.  So  also  went  on  the  Syllabus  which  for  Dominion 
Day  showed.  Company  Drill,  Instruction  Classes,  Lectures,  Physi- 
cal for  the  forenoon,  Bayonet  fighting  and  Route  marching  for 
the  afternoon. 

"All  right,  let  her  go,"  and  so  the  fields  and  plains,  the  lanes  and 
roads  are  filled  with  Canadian  soldiers  celebrating  their  Dominion 
Day,  drilling,  bayonet  fighting,  route  marching,  while  overhead 


CANADA— CONNOR  107 

soars  thrumming  the  watchful  airship,  Britain's  eye.  For  Britain 
has  a  business  on  hand.  Just  yonder  stretches  the  misty  sea  where 
unsleeping  lie  Britain's  men  of  war.  Beyond  the  sea  bleeding 
Belgium  has  bloodsoaked  ground  crying  to  Heaven  long  waiting 
but  soon  at  length  to  hear.  And  France  fiercely,  proudly  proving 
her  right  to  live  an  independent  nation.  And  Germany.  Ger- 
many! the  last  word  in  intellectual  power,  in  industrial  achieve- 
ment, in  scientific  research,  aye  and  in  infamous  brutality!  Ger- 
many, the  mighty  modem  Hun,  the  highly  scienced  barbarian  of 
this  twentieth  Century,  more  bloody  than  Attila,  more  ruthless  than 
his  savage  hordes.  Germany  doomed  to  destruction  because  free- 
dom is  man's  inalienable  birthright,  man's  undying  passion.  Ger- 
many! fated  to  execration  by  future  generations  for  that  she  has 
crucified  the  Son  of  God  afresh  and  put  Him  to  an  open  shame. 
Germany!  for  the  balking  of  whose  insolent  and  futile  ambition, 
and  for  the  crushing  of  whose  archaic  military  madness  we  Cana- 
dians are  tramping  on  this  Dominion  Day  these  English  fields  and 
these  sweet  English  lanes  5,000  miles  from  our  Western  Canada 
which  dear  land  we  can  not  ever  see  again  if  this  monstrous  tlireat- 
ening  cloud  be  not  removed  forever  from  our  sky.  For  this  it  is 
that  100,000  Canadian  citizens  have  left  their  homes  with  500,000 
eager  more  to  follow  if  needed,  other  sons  of  the  Empire  knit  in 
one  firm  resolve  that  once  more  Freedom  shall  be  saved  for  the 
race  as  by  their  sires  in  other  days. 

But  the  Tattoo  is  on — the  ground  chosen  is  the  little  plateau 
within  the  lines  of  the  43rd  just  below  the  Officers'  tents,  flanked  on 
one  side  by  a  sloping  grassy  hill  on  the  other  by  a  row  of  ancient 
trees  shading  a  little  hidden  brook  that  gurgles  softly  to  itself  all 
day  long.  On  the  sloping  hill  the  soldiers  of  the  various  battalions 
lie  stretched  at  ease  in  khaki-colored  kilts  and  trews,  caps  and 
bonnets,  except  the  men  of  the  43rd  who  wear  the  dark  blue  Glen- 


108     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

garry.  In  the  center  of  the  plateau  a  platform  invites  attention 
and  on  each  side  facing  it  rows  of  chairs  for  officers  and  their 
friends,  among  the  latter  some  officers'  wives,  happy  creatures  and 
happy  officers  to  have  them  so  near  and  not  5,000  miles  away. 

The  Commandant  has  been  called  away  on  a  sad  business,  a 
soldier's  funeral,  hence  the  Junior  Major  of  the  43rd  as  chairman 
of  tliat  important  and  delicately  organized  Committee  of  the 
Bandmasters  and  Pipe  Majors  of  the  various  battalions  is  in 
charge  of  the  program.  Major  Grassie  is  equal  to  the  occasion, 
quiet,  ready,  resourceful.  With  him  associated  is  Major  Watts, 
Adjutant  of  the  9th,  as  Musical  Director;  in  peaceful  times  or- 
ganist and  choir  master  of  a  Presbyterian  congregation  in  Edmon- 
ton far  away. 

Bang!     Bang!     Bang! 

Bang!     Bang!     Bang! 

The  drums  in  the  distance  begin  to  throb  and  from  the  eastern 
side  of  the  plain  march  in  the  band  of  the  9th  playing  their  Regi- 
mental march,  Garry  Owen,  none  the  less.  From  the  west  the  band 
of  the  11th,  then  that  of  the  12th,  finally  (for  die  43rd  Band  is 
away  on  leave,  worse  luck)  the  splendid  Band  of  the  49th,  each 
playing  its  own  Regimental  march  which  is  taken  up  by  the  bands 
already  in  position.  Next  comes  the  massed  buglers  of  all  the 
regiments,  their  thrilling  soaring  notes  rising  above  the  hills,  and 
take  their  stand  beside  the  bands  already  in  place.  Then  a  pause, 
when  from  round  the  hill  shoulder  rise  wild  and  weird  sounds. 
The  music  of  the  evening,  to  Scottish  hearts  and  ears,  has  begun. 
It  is  the  fine  pipe  band  of  the  42nd  Royal  Highlanders  from  Mon- 
treal, khaki  clad,  kilts  and  bonnets,  and  blowing  proudly  and 
defiantly  their  "Wha  saw  the  Forty-twa."  Again  a  pause  and  from 
the  other  side  of  the  hill  gay  with  tartan  and  blue  bonnets,  their 
great  booming  drones  gorgeous  with  flowing  streamers  and  silver 


CANADA— CONNOR  109 

mountings,  in  march  the  43rd  Camerons.  "Man,  wouldn't  Alex 
Macdonald  be  proud  of  his  pipes  to-day,"  says  a  Winnipeg  High- 
lander for  these  same  pipes  are  Alex's  gift  to  the  43rd,  and 
harkening  to  these  great  booming  drones  I  agree. 

Ah  these  pipes!  These  Highland  pipers!  Truly  as  one  of  them 
said,  "Pipers  are  no  just  like  other  people!"  Blowing  their  Pil- 
rock  of  Donald  Dhu  they  swing  into  line,  mighty  and  magnificent. 
Last  comes  the  brave  little  pipe  band  of  tlie  49th.  This  battalion 
has  one  Scotch  company  from  Edmonton,  which  insisted  on  bring- 
ing its  pipe  band  along.  Why  not?  The  Blue  Bonnets  is  their 
time  and  finely  they  ring  it  out.  Now  they  are  all  in  place.  Bands, 
Bugle  and  Pipes.  The  massed  Bands  strike  up  our  National  Song, 
and  all  the  soldiers  spring  to  their  feet  and  sing  Oh,  Canada.  A 
little  high  but  our  hearts  were  in  it.  And  so  the  program  goes  on. 
Single  bands  and  massed  bands  with  solos  from  French  Horns, 
Trombones  and  Cornets,  varied  delightfully  with  the  Highland 
Fling  by  Pipe  Major  Johnson  of  the  42nd,  and  the  Sword  Dance 
by  Piper  Raid  of  the  43rd  followed  by  an  encore,  the  Shean  Trheubs 
which  I  defy  any  mere  Sassenach  to  pronounce  or  to  dance,  at 
least  as  Piper  Heid  of  the  twinkling  feet  danced  it  that  night.  For 
he  did  it  "in  the  style  of  Willie  Maclennan,"  as  a  piper  said,  "the 
best  of  his  day  and  they  have  not  matched  him  yet."  The  massed 
pipe  bands  play  The  79th' s  Farewell  to  Gibraltar.  Forty-one 
pipers  and  every  man  blowing  his  best.  "Aye  man,  it  is  grand 
hearing  you,"  said  a  man  from  the  north.  Colonel  Moore  of  the 
9th,  on  a  minute's  warning,  makes  a  fine  speech  instinct  with 
patriotic  sentiment  and  calls  for  three  cheers  for  Canada.  He  got 
three  and  a  tiger  and  "a  tiger's  pup."  Major  Grassie  in  another 
speech  neat  and  to  the  point  thanks  those  who  had  helped  to  cele- 
brate our  Dominion  Day  and  once  more  calls  for  cheers  and  gets 
them.     Then  the  First  Post  warns  us  that  we  are  soldiers  and 


110     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

under  orders.  The  massed  bands  play  Nearer  My  God  to  Thee. 
Full  and  tender  the  long  drawn  notes  of  the  great  hymn  rise  and 
fall  on  the  evening  air,  the  soldiers  joining  reverently.  The 
Chaplain  of  the  43rd  congratulates  the  Commandant  upon  the  happy 
suggestion  of  a  Tattoo,  the  Chairman  upon  his  very  successful 
program  and  all  the  Company  upon  a  very  happy  celebration  of 
our  national  holiday — then  a  word  about  our  Day  and  all  it 
stands  for,  a  word  about  our  Empire,  our  Country,  our  Kiddies  at 
home,  another  word  of  thanks  to  the  Committee  for  the  closing 
hymn  so  eminently  appropriate  to  tlieir  present  circumstances  and 
then  God  bless  our  King,  God  bless  our  Empire,  God  bless  our 
Great  Cause  and  God  bless  our  dear  Canada.     Good  night. 

The  Last  Post  sounds.  Its  piercing  call  falls  sharp  and  start- 
ling upon  the  silent  night.  Long  after  we  say  "Good  night"  that 
last  long-drawn  note  high  and  clear  with  its  poignant  pathos  lingers 
in  our  hearts.     The  Dominion  Day  celebration  is  over. 


*-«-•-.  rA.J 


CANADA— LE  ACOCK  111 


SIMPLE  AS  DAY 

IT  WAS  among  the  retorts  and  test-ttibes  of  his  physical  labora- 
tory that  we  were  privileged  to  interview  the  Great  Scientist. 
His  back  was  towards  us  when  we  entered.  With  characteristic 
modesty  he  kept  it  so  for  some  time  after  our  entry.  Even  when 
he  tumed  round  and  saw  us  his  face  did  not  react  off  us  as  we 
should  have  expected. 

He  seemed  to  look  at  us,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  without 
seeing  us,  or,  at  least,  without  wishing  to  see  us. 

We  handed  him  our  card. 

He  took  it,  read  it,  dropped  it  into  a  bowlful  of  sulphuric  acid, 
and  then,  with  a  quiet  gesture  of  satisfaction,  tumed  again  to  his 
work. 

We  sat  for  some  time  behind  him.  "This  then,"  we  thought 
to  ourselves  (we  always  think  to  ourselves  when  we  are  left  alone) 
"is  the  man,  or  rather  is  die  back  of  the  man,  who  has  done  more" 
(here  we  consulted  the  notes  given  us  by  our  editor)  "to  revolu- 
tionize our  conception  of  atomic  dynamics  than  the  back  of  any 
other  man." 

Presently  the  Great  Scientist  tumed  towards  us  with  a  sigh 
that  seemed  to  our  ears  to  have  a  note  of  weariness  in  it.  Some- 
thing, we  felt,  must  be  making  him  tired. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  said. 

"Professor,"  we  answered,  "we  have  called  upon  you  in  re- 
sponse to  an  overwhelming  demand  on  the  part  of  the  public — " 

The  Great  Scientist  nodded. 
" — to  learn  something  of  your  new  researches  and  discoveries 
in — "  (here  we  consulted  a  minute  card  which  we  carried  in  our 
pocket)    " — in    radio-active-emanations   which    are   already   be- 


112     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

coming — "    (we    consulted    our    card    again)    " — a    household 
word—" 

The  professor  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  check  us — 

"I  would  rather  say,"  he  murmured,  "helio-radio-active — " 

"So  would  we,"  we  admitted,  "much  rather — " 

"After  all,"  said  the  Great  Scientist,  "helium  shares  in  the 
most  intimate  degree  the  properties  of  radium.  So,  too,  for  the 
matter  of  that,"  he  added  in  afterthought,  "do  thorium,  and 
borium!" 

"Even  borium!"  we  exclaimed,  delighted,  and  writing  rapidly 
in  our  note  book.  Already  we  saw  ourselves  writing  up  as  our 
headline  Borium  Shares  Properties  of  Thorium. 

"Just  what  is  it,"  said  the  Great  Scientist,  "that  you  want  to 
know?" 

"Professor,"  we  answered,  "what  our  journal  wants  is  a  plain 
and  simple  explanation,  so  clear  that  even  our  readers  can  under- 
stand it,  of  the  new  scientific  discoveries  in  radium.  We  under- 
stand diat  you  possess  more  than  any  other  man  the  gift  of  clear 
and  lucid  thought — " 

The  Professor  nodded. 
" — and  that  you  are  able  to  express  yourself  with  greater  simplicity 
than  any  two  men  now  lecturing." 

The  Professor  nodded  again. 

"Now,  then,"  we  said,  spreading  our  notes  on  our  knee,  "go  at 
it.  Tell  us,  and,  through  us,  tell  a  quarter  of  a  million  anxious 
readers  just  what  all  these  new  discoveries  are  about." 

"The  whole  thing,"  said  the  Professor,  warming  up  to  his  work 
as  he  perceived  from  the  motions  of  our  face  and  ears  our 
intelligent  interest,  "is  simplicity  itself.  I  can  give  it  to  you  in 
a  word — " 


CANADA— LE  ACOCK  113 

"That's  it,"  we  said.     "Give  it  to  us  that  way." 
"It  amounts,  if  one  may  boil  it  down  into  a  phrase — " 
"Boil  it,  boil  it,"  we  interrupted. 
" — amounts,  if  one  takes  the  mere  gist  of  it — " 
"Take  it,"  we  said,  "take  it." 

" — amounts  to  tlie  resolution  of  the  ultimate  atom." 
"Ha!"  we  exclaimed. 

"I  must  ask  you  first  to  clear  your  mind,"  the  Professor  con- 
tinued, "of  all  conception  of  ponderable  magnitude." 
We  nodded.  We  had  already  cleared  our  mind  of  this. 
"In  fact,"  added  the  Professor,  witli  what  we  thought  a  quiet 
note  of  warning  in  his  voice,  "I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  what 
we  are  dealing  with  must  be  regarded  as  altogether  ultra-micro- 
scopic." 

We  hastened  to  assure  the  professor  that,  in  accordance  with  the 
high  standards  of  honor  represented  by  our  journal,  we  should  of 
course  regard  anything  that  he  might  say  as  uhra-microscopic  and 
treat  it  accordingly. 

"You  say,  then,"  we  continued,  "that  the  essence  of  the  problem 
is  the  resolution  of  the  atom.  Do  you  think  you  can  give  us  any 
idea  of  what  the  atom  is?" 

The  professor  looked  at  us  searchingly. 

We  looked  back  at  him,  openly  and  frankly.  The  moment  was 
critical  for  our  interview.  Could  he  do  it?  Were  we  the  kind  of 
person  that  he  could  give  it  to?     Could  we  get  it  if  he  did? 

"I  think  I  can,"  he  said.  "Let  us  begin  with  the  assumption 
that  the  atom  is  an  infinitesimal  magnitude.  Very  good.  Let  us 
grant,  then,  that  though  it  is  imponderable  and  indivisible  it  must 
have  a  spacial  content?     You  grant  me  this?" 

"We  do,"  we  said,  "we  do  more  than  this,  we  give  it  to  you." 
"Very  well.     If  spacial,  it  must  have  dimension:  if  dimension 


114     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

— form :  let  us  assume  ex  hypothesi  the  form  to  be  that  of  a  spheroid 
and  see  where  it  leads  us." 

The  professor  was  now  intensely  interested.  He  walked  to  and 
fro  in  his  laboratory.  His  features  worked  with  excitement. 
We  worked  ours,  too,  as  sympathetically  as  we  could. 

"There  is  no  other  possible  method  in  inductive  science,"  he 
added,  "than  to  embrace  some  hypothesis,  the  most  attractive  that 
one  can  find,  and  remain  with  it — " 

We  nodded.  Even  in  our  own  humble  life  after  our  day's  work 
we  had  found  this  true. 

"Now,"  said  the  Professor,  planting  himself  squarely  in  front 
of  us,  "assuming  a  spherical  form,  and  a  spacial  content,  assum- 
ing the  dynamic  forces  that  are  familiar  to  us  and  assuming — 
the  thing  is  bold,  I  admit — " 

We  looked  as  bold  as  we  could. 

" — assuming  that  the  ions,  or  nuclei  of  the  atom — I  know  no 
better  word — " 

"Neither  do  we,"  we  said. 

" — that  the  nuclei  move  under  the  energy  of  such  forces  what 
have  we  got?" 

"Ha!"  we  said. 

"What  have  we  got?  Why,  the  simplest  matter  conceivable. 
The  forces  inside  our  atom — itself,  mind  you,  the  function  of  a 
circle — mark  that — " 

We  did. 

" — becomes  merely  a  function  of  i^!" 

The  Great  Scientist  paused  with  a  laugh  of  triumph. 

"A  function  of  ^r!"  we  repeated  in  delight. 

"Precisely.  Our  conception  of  ultimate  matter  is  reduced  to 
that  of  an  oblate  spheroid  described  by  the  revolution  of  an  ellipse 
on  its  o^vn  minor  axis!" 


CANADA— LE  ACOCK  115 

"Good  heavens!"  we  said,  "merely  that." 

"Nothing  else.     And  in  that  case  any  further  ^calculation  be- 
comes a  mere  matter  of  the  extraction  of  a  root." 
"How  simple,"  we  murmured. 

"Is  it  not?"  said  the  Professor.     "In  fact,  I  am  accustomed,  m 
talking  to  my  class,  to  give  them  a  very  clear  idea,  by  simply 
taking  as  our  root  F,— F  being  any  finite  constant—" 
He  looked  at  us  sharply.     We  nodded. 
"And  raising  F  to  the  log  of  infinity;— I  find  they  apprehend  it 

very  readily."  r  i.    t         e 

"Do  they?"  we  murmured.     Ourselves  we  felt  as  if  the  Log  ot 

Infinity  carried  us  to  ground  higher  than  what  we  commonly  care 

to  tread  on. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  Professor,  "the  Log  of  Infinity  is  an  Un- 
known." 

"Of  course,"  we  said,  very  gravely.  We  felt  ourselves  here  in 
the  presence  of  something  that  demanded  our  reverence. 

"But  still,"  continued  tlie  Professor,  almost  jauntily,  "we  can 
handle  Uie  Unknown  just  as  easily  as  anything  else." 

This  puzzled  us.  We  kept  silent.  We  thought  it  wiser  to  move 
on  to  more  general  ground.     In  any  case,  our  notes  were  now 

nearly  complete. 

"These  discoveries,  then,"  we  said,  "are  absolutely  revolu- 

tionary." 

"They  are,"  said  the  Professor. 

"You  have  now,  as  we  understand,  got  the  atom-how  shall  we 
put  it? — got  it  where  you  want  it." 

"Not  exactly,"  said  the  Professor  with  a  sad  smile. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  we  asked. 

"Unfortunately  our  analysis,  perfect  though  it  is,  stops  short. 

We  have  no  synthesis." 


116     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

The  Professor  spoke  as  in  deep  sorrow. 

"No  synthesis,"  we  moaned.  We  felt  it  was  a  cruel  blow.  But 
in  any  case  our  notes  were  now  elaborate  enough.  We  felt  that 
our  readers  could  do  without  a  synthesis.     We  rose  to  go. 

"Synthetic  dynamics,"  said  the  Professor,  taking  us  by  the  coat, 
"is  only  beginning — " 

"In  that  case — "  we  murmured,  disengaging  his  hand — 

"But  wait,  wait,"  he  pleaded,  "wait  for  another  fifty  years — " 

"We  will,"  we  said,  very  earnestly,  "but  meantime  as  our  paper 
goes  to  press  this  afternoon  we  must  go  now.  In  fifty  years  we 
will  come  back." 

"Oh,  I  see,  I  see,"  said  the  Professor,  "you  are  writing  all  this 
for  a  newspaper.     I  see." 

"Yes,"  we  said,  "we  mentioned  that  at  the  beginning." 

"Ah!"  said  the  Professor,  "did  you?     Very  possibly.     Yes." 

"We  propose,"  we  said,  "to  feature  the  article  for  next  Sat- 
urday." 

"Will  it  be  long?"  he  asked. 

"About  two  columns,"  we  answered. 

"And  how  much,"  said  the  Professor  in  a  hesitating  way,  "do  I 
have  to  pay  you  to  put  it  in?" 

"How  much  which?"  we  asked. 

"How  much  do  I  have  to  pay?" 

"Why,  Professor,"  we  began  quickly.  Then  we  checked  our- 
selves. After  aU  was  it  right  to  undeceive  him,  this  quiet,  ab- 
sorbed man  of  science  with  his  ideals,  his  atoms  and  his  emana- 
tions? No,  a  hundred  times  no.  Let  him  pay  a  hundred 
times. 

"It  will  cost  you,"  we  said  very  firmly,  "ten  dollars." 

The  Professor  began  groping  among  his  apparatus.  We  knew 
that  he  was  looking  for  his  purse. 


CANADA— LE ACOCK  117 

"We  should  like  also  very  much,"  we  said,  "to  insert  your  pic- 
ture along  witli  the  article — " 

"Would  tliat  cost  much?"  he  asked, 

"No,  that  is  only  five  dollars." 

The  Professor  had  meantime  found  his  purse. 

"Would  it  be  all  right,"  he  began,  " — tliat  is,  would  you  mind 
if  I  pay  you  the  money  now?     I  am  apt  to  forget." 

"Quite  all  right,"  we  answered.  We  said  good-by  very  gently 
and  passed  out.  We  felt  somehow  as  if  we  had  touched  a  higher 
life.  "Such,"  we  murmured,  as  we  looked  about  the  ancient 
campus,  "are  the  men  of  science:  are  there,  perhaps,  any  others 
of  them  round  this  morning  that  we  might  interview?" 


<  a  c^  cJ'i 


118  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

THE  EPIC  STANDPOINT  IN  THE  WAR 

AFTER  more  than  three  years  of  the  War,  we  are  only  now 
beginning  to  see  it,  as  it  is,  in  its  epic  immensity.  On  the 
eastern  front  it  has  been  too  far  from  us;  on  the  western  front  it 
has  been  too  near  us,  and  we  have  been  too  much  a  part  of  it,  to 
get  any  sight  at  all  of  that  series  of  monotonous  and  monstrous 
battles,  a  series  punctuated  only  by  names:  Liege,  Antwerp,  Mons, 
Ypres,  Verdun  and  Arras.  And  if  nothing  had  happened  besides 
the  Titanic  conflict  of  material  armaments  I  believe  that  we  should 
not  yet  be  anywhere  near  realizing  its  vastness  and  its  significance. 

If  we  are  aware  of  it  now  it  is  because,  in  the  last  few  montlis, 
three  events  have  happened  which  are  of  another  order:  the  abdi- 
cation of  Constantine,  King  of  Greece,  tlie  Russian  Revolution, 
and  the  coming  of  America  into  the  War. 

These  three  events  have  adjusted  and  cleared  our  vision  by  giv- 
ing us  the  true  perspective  and  the  scale. 

From  the  standpoint  of  individuals,  even  of  those  few  who  have 
lost  nothing  personally,  who  are  alive  and  safe,  who  have  never 
been  near  the  trenches,  never  watched  an  air-raid,  or  so  much  as 
seen  the  inside  of  a  hospital,  the  War  is  a  monstrous  and  irrepa- 
rable tragedy. 

But  from  the  epic  standpoint,  it  would  not  have  mattered  if  all 
the  civilians  in  Great  Britain  had  been  starved  to  death  by  sub- 
marines, or  burned  alive  in  our  beds,  so  long  as  the  freedom  of 
one  country,  even  a  small  country  like  Greece,  was  secured  for- 
ever, let  alone  the  freedom  of  a  great  country  like  Russia — and 
let  alone  the  saving  of  America's  soul. 

For  that  is  what  it  comes  to. 

Somewhere  about  the  sad  middle  of  the  War,  an  American 


GREAT  BRITAIN— SINCLAIR  119 

woman,  who  is  one  of  the  finest  of  American  poets,  discussed  the 
War  with  me.     She  deplored  America's  attitude  in  not  coming  in 

with  us. 

I  said,  politely  and  arrogantly,  "Why  should  she?  It  isn't  her 
War.     She'll  do  us  more  good  by  keeping  out  of  it." 

The  poet — who  would  not  have  called  herself  a  patriot — an- 
swered, "I  am  not  thinking  of  your  good.  I  am  thinking  of  the 
good  of  America's  soul." 

Since  August  4th,  1914,  England  has  been  energetically  engaged 
in  saving  her  own  soul.  Heaven  knows  we  needed  salvation! 
But,  commendable  as  our  action  was  and  is,  the  fact  remains  that 
it  was  our  own  soul  that  we  were  saving.  We  thought,  and  we 
cared,  nothing  about  America's  soul. 

In  the  beginning  of  tlie  War,  when  it  seemed  certain  that  America 
would  not  come  in,  we  were  glad  to  think  that  America's  body  was 
untouched,  that,  while  all  Europe  rolled  in  blood,  so  vast  a  terri- 
tory was  still  at  peace,  and  that  the  gulf  of  the  Atlantic  kept 
American  men,  American  women  and  children,  safe  from  the  hor- 
ror and  agony  of  war.     This  was  a  comparatively  righteous 

attitude. 

Then  we  found  that  it  was  precisely  the  Atlantic  that  gave 
Americans  a  taste  of  our  agony  and  our  horror.  The  Atlantic 
was  no  safe  place  for  the  American  men  and  women  and  children 
who  traveled  so  ingenuously  over  it. 

And  when  for  a  long  time  we  wondered  whether  America  would 
or  would  not  come  in,  we  were  still  glad;  but  it  was  with  another 
gladness.  We  said  to  ourselves  that  we  did  not  want  America  to 
come  in.  We  wanted  to  win  the  War  without  her,  even  if  it  took 
us  a  little  longer.  For  by  that  time  we  had  begun  to  look  on  the 
War  as  our  and  our  Allies'  unique  possession.  To  fight  in  it  was 
a  privilege  and  a  glory  that  we  were  not  inclined  to  share. 


120     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"America,"  we  said,  "is  very  much  better  employed  in  making 
munitions  for  us.  Let  her  go  on  making  them.  Let  her  help  our 
wounded;  let  her  feed  Belgium  for  us;  but  let  her  not  come  in  now 
and  bag  the  glory  when  it  is  we  who  have  borne  the  burden  and  heat 
of  the  battle." 

And  this  attitude  of  ours  was  not  righteous.  It  was  egoistic;  it 
was  selfish;  it  was  arrogant.  We  handed  over  to  America  the 
material  role  and  hung  on  tight  to  tlie  spiritual  glory.  It  was  as  if 
we  had  asked  ourselves,  in  our  arrogance,  whether  America  was 
able  to  drink  of  the  cup  that  we  drank  of,  and  to  be  baptized  with 
the  baptism  of  blood  which  we  were  baptized  withal? 

We  had  left  off  thinking  even  of  America's  body,  and  we  were 
not  thinking  at  all  about  her  soul. 

Then,  only  a  few  months  ago,  she  came  in,  and  we  were  glad. 
Most  of  us  were  glad  because  we  knew  that  her  coming  in  would 
hasten  the  coming  of  peace.  But  I  think  that  some  of  us  were  glad 
because  America  had  saved,  before  everything,  her  immortal  soul. 

And  by  our  gladness  we  knew  more  about  ourselves  then  than  we 
had  suspected.  We  know  that,  under  all  our  arrogance  and  self- 
ishness, there  was  a  certain  soreness  caused  by  America's  neu- 
trality. 

We  did  not  care  much  about  Spain's  or  Scandinavia's  or  Hol- 
land's neutrality,  though  the  Dutch  and  Scandanavian  navies  might 
have  helped  enormously  to  tighten  the  blockade;  but  we  felt 
America's  neutrality  as  a  wrong  done  to  our  own  soul.  We  were 
vulnerable  where  her  honor  was  concerned.  And  this,  though 
we  knew  that  she  was  justified  in  holding  back;  for  her  course  was 
not  a  straight  and  simple  one  like  ours.  No  Government  on  earth 
has  any  right  to  throw  prudence  to  the  winds,  and  force  war  on  a 
country  that  is  both  divided  and  unprepared. 

Yet  we  were  vulnerable,  as  if  our  own  honor  were  concerned. 


GREAT  BRITAIN— SINCLAIR  121 

That  is  why,  however  much  we  honor  the  men  that  America 
sends  out  now,  and  will  yet  send  out,  to  fight  with  us,  we  honor 
still  more  her  first  volunteers  who  came  in  of  their  own  accord,  who 
threw  prudence  to  every  wind  that  blows,  and  sent  themselves  out, 
to  fight  and  to  be  wounded  and  to  die  in  the  ranks  of  the  Allies. 
It  may  be  that  some  of  them  loved  France  more  than  England.  No 
matter;  they  had  good  cause  to  love  her,  since  France  stands  for 
Freedom;  and  it  was  Freedom  that  they  fought  for,  soldiers  in  the 
greatest  War  of  Independence  that  has  ever  been. 

The  coming  in  of  America  has  not  placed  upon  England  a 
greater  or  more  sacred  obligation  than  was  hers  before: — to  see  to 
it  tliat  this  War  accomplishes  the  freedom,  not  only  of  Belgium 
and  Russia  and  Poland  and  Serbia  and  Roumania,  but  of  Ireland 
also,  and  of  Hungarj',  and,  if  Germany  so  wills  it,  of  Germany 
herself.  It  is  inconceivable  that  we  should  fail;  but,  if  we  did 
fail,  we  should  now  have  to  answer  to  the  soul  and  conscience  of 
America  as  to  our  own  conscience  and  our  own  soul. 


122  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ELEUTHERIOS  VENIZELOS  AND  THE  GREEK  SPIRIT 

T71EUTHERI0S  VENIZELOS,  the  foremost  statesman  of  Greece, 
I  J  the  man  to  whom  in  fact  she  owes  that  growth  in  territory  and 
influence  that  has  come  as  a  resuh  of  the  first  and  second  Balkanic 
wars,  continues  to  exert  paramount  influence  in  the  solution  of  the 
Eastern  question,  in  spite  of  the  we  believe  mistaken  policy  of  the 
Triple  Entente  which  permitted  King  Constantine  of  Greece  for  so 
long  a  time  to  prevent  the  direct  application  of  the  power  of  Greece 
to  and  in  the  successful  termination  of  the  war  against  Germany. 
Venizelos  has  never  lost  faith  in  the  mission  of  Greece  in  the 
eastern  Mediterranean.  He  insists  that  a  balance  of  power  in  the 
Balkans  will  prevent  an  all  powerful  Bulgaria  from  selling  herself 
and  her  neighbors  to  the  Pan-German  octopus  which  has  stretched 
its  tentacles  toward  Constantinople  and  on  to  the  Persian  Gulf. 

Manfully  defending  the  rights  of  the  Greeks  in  Macedonia  and 
Asia  Minor  as  he  for  long  years  supported  those  of  the  Greeks  in 
Crete,  he  demands  no  aggrandizement  of  territory  by  right  of 
conquest,  but  only  the  legitimate  control  and  administration  of 
lands  that  have  been  for  ages  inhabited  by  men  of  Greek  blood,  of 
Greek  religion,  and  (until  eff'orts  were  made  to  enforce  other 
speech)  of  Greek  language.  He  hates  as  only  Greeks  can  hate, 
oppression  of  all  sorts  whether  by  Turk  or  Bulgarian  or  Teuton, 
and  desires  to  see  democratic  principles  finally  established  the 
world  over.  Holding  this  attitude,  he  could  hardly  bring  himself 
to  believe  that  King  Constantine  could  really  be  abridging  the 
constitutional  right  of  the  Greeks  to  control  their  own  external  as 
well  as  their  domestic  policy.  When  fully  convinced  that  this  was 
the  King's  intention,  Venezelos  cast  the  die  that  gave  Greek  free- 
dom a  new  birth  in  Thessaloniki  and  the  Islands.     This  movement 


GREECE— VENIZELOS  123 

tardily  supported  though  it  was  by  the  Entente,  has  at  last  borne 
fruit  in  a  United  Greece  which  will  do  her  share  in  making  the 
East  as  well  as  the  West  safe  for  Democracy.  The  people  that 
fought  so  nobly  in  the  revolution  of  1821  will  know  how  to  give  a 
good  account  of  itself  under  the  leadership  of  a  sane,  courageous 
and  farsighted  statesman  like  Venizelos, 

The  passage  which  I  have  chosen  to  translate  is  from  the  closing 
words  of  the  speech  delivered  before  the  Greek  Chamber  of  Depu- 
ties October  21,  1915.  In  tlie  first  portion  of  the  speech  Venizelos 
defends  the  policy  of  the  participation  in  the  campaign  against 
the  Dardanelles,  which  he  had  in  vain  advocated,  and  the  support 
of  Serbia  as  against  Bulgaria  in  accordance  with  the  defensive  al- 
liance concluded  with  that  country. 

"I  must  now  once  more,  and  for  the  last  time  declare  to  the 
Government  which  to-day  occupies  these  seats,  that  it  assumes 
the  very  heaviest  of  responsibilities  before  the  Nation,  in  under- 
taking once  more  to  administer  the  Government  of  Greece  and  to 
direct  its  fortunes  in  this,  the  most  critical  period  of  its  national 
existence,  with  those  antiquated  conceptions  which,  if  they  had 
prevailed  in  1912,  would  have  kept  Greece  within  her  old  narrowly 
confined  borders.  These  old  ideas  have  been  radically  condemned 
not  only  by  the  will  of  men,  but  by  the  very  force  of  circumstances. 

"It  is  most  natural,  Gentlemen,  that  with  those  conceptions  under 
which  that  older  political  world  of  Greece  acted,  a  political  world 
which  even  to-day  by  its  voting  majority  controls  these  seats  of 
Government,  it  is  natural,  I  repeat,  that  such  a  Government  should 
be  unable  to  adapt  itself  to  the  great,  the  colossal  problems  which 
have  risen  since  Greece,  ceasing  to  be  a  small  state,  and  enlarging 
its  territories,  has  taken  a  position  in  the  Mediterranean  which, 
while  exceptionally  imposing,  is  at  the  same  time  peculiarly  sub- 
ject to  envy,  and  is  on  this  account  especially  dangerous. 


124     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"How  dare  you,  witli  those  old  conceptions  assume  the  responsi- 
bility for  the  course  which  you  have  taken,  a  course  which  departs 
widely  from  the  truth,  from  the  traditional  policy  of  that  older 
Greek  Government,  which  realized  that  it  is  impossible  to  look  for 
any  really  successful  Greek  policy  which  runs  counter  to  the  power 
that  controls  the  sea. 

"How  is  it  possible  that  you  can  wish  to  impose  on  the  country 
such  conceptions  in  tlie  face  of  the  repeatedly  expressed  opinion 
of  the  representatives  of  the  people,  and  with  the  actual  results 
of  the  recent  past  before  you,  a  past  which,  with  the  sincerity  that 
distinguishes  you,  my  dear  fellow-citizens,  you  have  not  hesitated 
to  condemn,  in  order  to  show  clearly  that  in  your  heart  of  hearts 
you  would  regard  us  as  better  off  if  we  were  within  the  old  bound- 
aries of  1912! 

"But,  sirs,  the  life  of  individuals  and  the  life  of  Nations  are  gov- 
erned by  one  and  the  same  law,  tlie  law  of  perpetual  struggle. 
This  struggle,  which  is  even  keener  between  nations  than  between 
men,  is  regulated  among  men  by  the  internal  laws  of  the  country, 
by  the  penal  code,  the  police  and  in  general  the  whole  organization 
of  the  state,  which,  insofar  as  it  is  able,  defends  the  weak  against 
the  strong.  Although  we  have  to  confess  that  this  organization 
falls  far  short  of  perfection,  it  does  at  any  rate  tend  gradually 
toward  the  attainment  of  its  ultimate  ideal.  But  in  the  struggle  of 
nations,  where  there  exists  an  international  law,  the  pitiful  failure 
of  which  you  have  come  to  know,  not  only  in  the  immediate  past, 
but  especially  during  this  European  war,  you  must  perceive  that 
it  is  impossible  for  small  nations  to  progress  and  expand  without  a 
perpetual  struggle.  May  I  carry  this  argument  one  step  further 
and  say  that  this  growth  and  expansion  of  Greece  is  not  destined 
to  satisfy  moral  requirements  alone  or  to  realize  the  national  and 
patriotic  desire  to  fulfil  obligations  toward  our  enslaved  brothers, 


GREECE— VENIZELOS  125 

but  it  is  actually  a  necessary  pre-requisite  to  the  continued  life  of 

the  state. 

From  certain  points  of  view  I  might  have  recognized  in  accord- 
ance with  the  conceptions  of  my  worthy  fellow-citizen  that  if  it  had 
been  a  matter  of  continuing  to  have  Turkey  as  our  neighbor  in  our 
northern  frontier,  as  she  formerly  was,  we  could  have  continued  to 
live  on  for  many  years,  especially  if  we  could  have  brought  our- 
selves to  endure  from  her  from  time  to  time  without  complaint 
certain  humiliations  and  indignities.  But  now  that  we  have  ex- 
panded and  become  a  rival  to  other  Christian  powers,  against 
whom,  in  case  of  defeat  in  war,  we  can  expect  no  effective  interven- 
tion on  the  part  of  other  nations,  from  that  moment.  Gentlemen, 
the  establishment  of  Greece  as  a  self-sufficing  state,  able  to  defend 
itself  against  its  enemies,  is  for  her  a  question  of  life  and  death. 

Unfortunately,  after  our  successful  wars,  while  we  were  develop- 
ing our  new  territories  and  organizing  this  Greater  Greece  into  a 
model  new  state,  as  far  as  lay  within  our  power,  we  did  not  have 
time  to  secure  at  once  for  the  people  all  the  advantages  and  all  the 
benefits  that  should  result  from  extending  our  frontiers.     Our 
unfortunate  people  up  to  the  present  has  seen  only  sacrifices  to 
which  it  has  been  subjected  for  the  sake  of  extending  the  boundaries 
of  the  state.     It  has  experienced  the  moral  satisfaction  of  having 
freed  its  brothers,  and  the  national  gratification  of  belonging  to  a 
state  which  is  greater  than  it  was  before.     From  the  material  point 
of  view  however,  from  the  point  of  view  of  economic  advantage, 
it  has  not  yet  been  able  to  clearly  discern  what  profit  it  has  obtained 
from  the  enlargement  of  the  state.     It  is  natural  then  that  to-day 
as  well,  we  can  only  hold  before  our  people  the  sacrifices  that  are 
once  more  required  of  it.     These  sacrifices,  Gentlemen,  according 
to  my  personal  convictions  which  are  as  firmly  held  as— humanly 
speaking — convictions  can  be,  these  sacrifices,  as  I  see  them,  are 


126  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

destined  to  create  a  great  and  powerful  Greece,  which  will  bring 
about  not  an  extension  of  the  state  by  conquest,  but  a  natural  return 
to  those  limits  within  which  Hellenism  has  been  active  even  from 
prehistoric  times. 

"These  sacrifices  are  to  create,  I  insist,  a  great,  a  powerful,  a 
wealthy  Greece,  able  to  develop  within  its  boundaries  a  live  indus- 
trialism competent,  from  the  interests  which  it  would  represent,  to 
enter  into  commercial  treaties  with  other  states  on  equal  terms, 
and  able  finally  to  protect  Greek  citizens  anywhere  on  earth:  for 
the  Greek  could  then  proudly  say  'I  am  a  Greek,'  with  the  knowl- 
edge that,  happen  what  may,  the  state  is  ready  and  able  to  protect 
him,  no  matter  where  he  may  be,  just  as  all  other  great  and  power- 
ful states  do,  and  tliat  he  will  not  be  subjected  to  prosecution  and 
be  forced  to  submit  to,  the  lack  of  protection  as  is  the  Greek  subject 
to-day. 

"When  you  take  all  these  things  into  account,  Gentlemen,  you 
will  understand  why  I  said  a  few  moments  ago,  tliat  I  and  the  whole 
liberal  party  are  possessed  by  a  feeling  of  deepest  sadness  be- 
cause by  your  policy,  you  are  leading  Greece,  involuntarily,  to  be 
sure,  but  none  the  less  certainly,  to  her  ruin.  You  will  induce  her 
to  carry  on  war  perforce,  under  the  most  difficult  conditions  and 
on  the  most  disadvantageous  terms. 

"The  opportunity  to  create  a  great  and  powerful  Greece,  such  an 
opportunity  as  comes  to  a  race  only  once  in  thousands  of  years,  you 
are  thus  allowing  to  be  lost  forever." 

{Translation,  with  Notes,  by  Carroll  N.  Brown) 


IIER   ANSWER 

By  Clxtrlfs  Dmui  Cilmin 
h'roin  the  Onijiniil  Sketch 


ITALY— THAYER  127 


A  TRIBUTE  TO  ITALY 


EVEN  now,  few  Americans  understand  the  great  service  which 
Italy  has  done  to  the  Allied  Cause.  We  have  expected  some 
sensational  military  achievements,  being  ourselves  unable  to 
realize  the  immense  difficulty  of  the  military  task  which  confronted 
tlie  Italians.  The  truth  is  that  the  Terrain  over  which  they  have 
fought  is  incredibly  difficuU.  By  the  sly  drawing  of  the  frontier 
when  in  1866  Austria  ceded  Venetia  to  the  Italians,  every  pass, 
every  access,  from  Italy  into  Austria  was  left  in  the  hands  of  the 
Austrians.  Some  of  those  passes  are  so  intricate  and  narrow  that 
an  Austrian  regiment  could  defend  them  against  an  army.  And 
yet,  in  two  years'  fighting  the  Italians  have  advanced  and  have 
astonished  the  world  by  their  exploits  in  campaigning  above  the 
line  of  perpetual  snow  and  among  crags  as  unpromising  as  church 

steeples. 

On  lower  levels  they  have  captured  Gorizia,  a  feat  unparalleled 
by  any  thus  far  accomplished  by  the  English  and  French  on  Uie 
West.  The  defense  of  Verdun  remains,  of  course,  the  supreme  and 
sublime  achievement  of  defensive  action,  but  the  taking  of  Gorizia 
is  thus  far  the  most  splendid  work  of  the  Allied  offensive. 

I  do  not  propose,  however,  to  speak  in  detail  of  tlie  Italians'  mili- 
tary service.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  they  have  proved  themselves 
excellent  fighters  who  combine  the  rare  qualities  of  dash  and  endur- 
ance. I  wish  to  speak  of  the  vital  contribution  Italy  has  made 
from  the  beginning  of  die  War  to  the  Great  Cause— the  cause  of 
Democracy  and  of  Civilization. 

Wlien  Italy  at  the  end  of  July,  1914,  refused  to  join  Austria 
and  Germany  she  announced  to  the  world  that  the  war  which  the 
Teutons  planned  was  an  aggressive  war,  and  by  this  announcement 


128      DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

she  stamped  on  the  Pan-German  crimes  that  verdict  which  every 
day  since  has  confirmed  and  which  will  he  indelibly  written  on  the 
pages  of  history. 

For  Italy  was  a  partner  of  Germany  and  Austria  in  the  Triple 
Alliance  and  she  knew  from  inside  evidence  that  the  Teutonic 
Powers  were  not  acting  on  the  defensive.  Accordingly,  her  de- 
cision had  the  greatest  significance,  and  when  before  the  actual 
outbreak  of  the  war  she  privately  informed  France  that  she  had  no 
intention  of  attacking  that  country  she  relieved  the  French  of 
great  suspense.  If  Italy  had  joined  the  Teutons  the  French  would 
have  been  required  to  guard  their  southeastern  frontier  by  a  large 
force,  perhaps  not  less  than  a  million  men,  which  were  now  set 
free  to  oppose  the  German  attack  in  the  north. 

Tlie  world  did  not  understand  why  Italy  waited  until  May,  1915, 
before  declaring  war  on  Austria,  but  the  reason  was  plain.  Ex- 
hausted by  their  war  in  Tripoli  the  Italians  had  neither  munition 
nor  food  and  their  soldiers  even  lacked  uniforms.  It  took  nine 
months,  therefore,  to  prepare  for  war.  Another  year  passed  be- 
fore Italy  could  imdertake  to  face  Germany;  for  the  Germans  had 
so  thoroughly  honeycombed  Italy's  commerce,  industry  and  finances 
that  it  took  two  years  for  the  Italians  to  oust  the  Germans  and  to 
train  men  to  replace  them. 

By  these  delays,  which  seemed  to  the  outside  world  suspicious, 
Italy  did  another  service.  If  she  had  plunged  in  prematurely  as 
the  Allies  and  her  friends  besought  her  to  do  she  would  have  been 
speedily  overwhelmed.  Imagine  what  a  blow  that  would  have 
been  to  the  Allied  Cause,  especially  coming  so  early  in  the  War. 
Her  prudence  saved  Europe  this  disaster.  Had  Nortliem  Italy 
become  enslaved  the  Teutonic  forces  could  have  threatened  France 
on  the  southeast,  and  with  Genoa  as  a  port  they  could  have  made 
the  Mediterranean  much  more  perilous  for  the  Allied  ships  and 


ITALY— THAYER  129 

transportation.  It  is  not  for  the  United  States,  a  country  of  over 
one  hundred  million  population,  and  yet  checked  if  not  intimidated 
by  a  small  body  of  German  plotters  and  tiicir  accomplices,  to  look 
scornfully  on  Italy's  long  deferred  entrance  into  the  War.  The 
Pro-German  element  in  Italy  was  relatively  stronger  than  here  and 
the  elements  which  composed  it— the  Blacks,  the  Germanized  finan- 
ciers and  business  men,  many  nobles  and  the  Vatican — openly 
opposed  making  war  on  the  Kaiser.  In  spite  of  all  these  difficul- 
ties, in  spite  of  the  very  great  danger  she  ran,  because  if  the 
Germans  win  they  threaten  to  restore  the  Papal  temporal  power, 
and  die  Austrians,  Italy  stood  by  the  Allies. 

For  her  to  be  untrue  to  the  cause  of  Democracy  would  be  almost 
unthinkable;  the  great  men  who  made  her  a  united  nation  were 
all  in  different  ways  apostles  of  Democracy.  Mazzini  was  its 
preacher;  Garibaldi  fought  for  it  on  many  fields,  in  South  America, 
in  Italy  and  in  France;  Victor  Emmanuel  was  the  first  democratic 
sovereign  in  Europe  in  the  nineteenth  century;  Cavour,  beyond  all 
other  statesmen  of  his  age,  believed  in  Liberty,  religious,  social, 
and  political  and  applied  it  to  his  vast  work  of  transforming  thirty 
million  Italians  out  of  Feudalism,  and  tlie  stunting  effects  of 
autocracy  into  a  nation  of  democrats. 

It  was  impossible  also  for  Italy,  the  ancient  home  of  Civilization, 
the  modier  of  arts  and  refinement,  to  accept  the  standard  of  the 
Huns  which  the  Germans  embraced  and  imposed  upon  their  allies. 
The  conflict  between  the  Germans  and  the  Italians  was  instinctive, 
temperamental.  For  a  thousand  years  it  took  the  form  of  a  struggle 
between  the  German  Emperors  and  the  Italian  Popes  for  mastery. 
The  Germans  strove  for  political  domination,  for  temporal  power; 
the  Italians  strove,  at  least  in  ideal,  in  order  that  the  spiritual 
should  not  be  the  vassal  of  the  physical.  It  was  soul  force  against 
brute  force.     Looking  at  it  as  deeply  as  possible  we  see  that  the 


130     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Italians,  a  race  sprung  out  of  ancient  culture,  mightily  affected  but 
not  denatured  by  Christianity,  repudiated  the  Barbarian  ideals  of 
Teutonism.  Men  whose  ancestors  had  worshiped  Jupiter  and 
Apollo,  and  who  were  themselves  worshiping  the  Christian  God, 
Madonna  and  the  great  saints,  had  no  spiritual  affinity  with  men 
whose  ancestors  could  conceive  of  no  Deities  higher  than  Thor, 
Odin  and  the  other  rough,  crude,  and  unmannered  denizens  of  the 
Nortliem  Walhalla.  So  Italy  stood  by  Civilization.  Her  risk 
was  great,  but  great  shall  be  her  guerdon  in  the  approval  of  her  own 
conscience  and  the  gratitude  of  posterity. 


/WlO^  A^'^  /Aa^ 


Sept.  1,  1917. 


ITALY— D'ANNUNZIO  131 

AL  GENERALE  CADORNA 

"lo  ho  quel  che  ho  donato." 

QUESTO  che  in  Te  si  compie  anno  di  sorte, 
I'ltalia  I'alza  in  cima  della  spada 
mirando  al  segno;  e  la  sua  rossa  strada 
ne  brilla  insino  alle  sue  alpine  porte. 
Tu  tendi  la  potenza  della  morte 

come  un  arco  tra  il  Vodice  e  I'Hermada; 
varchi  I'lsonzo  indomito  ova  guada 
la  tua  Vittoria  col  tuo  pugno  forte. 
Giovine  sei,  rinato  dalla  terra 
sitibonda,  balzato  su  dal  duro 
Carso  col  fiore  dei  tuoi  fanti  imberbi. 
Questo,  che  in  te  si  compie,  anno  di  guerra 
splenda  da  te,  avido  del  futuro, 

e  al  domani  terribile  ti  serbi. 

Gabriele  D'Annunzio 


132  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

TO  GENERAL  CADORNA 

ON  HIS  69TH  BIRTHDAY,  SEPTEMBER  11,  1917 


T 


"What  I  have  given,  that  have  I." 

HIS  fateful  year  which  thou  fulfillest  so. 
Our  Italy,  her  cherisht  goal  in  sight, 
Exalts  upon  her  sword ;  and  gleameth  bright 
Her  ruddy  pathway  to  the  gates  of  snow. 

The  power  of  death  thou  bendest  like  a  bow 
'Twixt  Vodice  and  bleak  Hermada's  height; 
And  Victory,  guided  by  thy  hand  of  might, 
Thro'  wild  Isonzo  forth  doth  fording  go. 

Reborn  from  lands  of  drought,  a  youth  art  thou, 
Upheaved  by  rugged  Carso  suddenly 
With  all  the  lads  of  thine  advancing  throng. 

This  bloody  year  which  thou  fulfillest  now, 
O  may  it,  onward  pressing,  shine  with  thee 
And  keep  thee  for  the  fearful  morrow  strong! 

Poetical  Version  by 


(2i(^<iuA^ 


Y 


0  Gi 

\r)ORNA 

.^      {.TH  B 

EPlExMBER  11,  1917 

TAo.   / 

mt  halt  1." 

1           OU: 

■  ^t  SO, 

oal  in  -: 

word 

;  and                  bright 

ay  to 

the  gates  of  »now. 

^    W  I  H.  V       ^JLl 


Ami  Victory, ;  uided  by  thy  h- 
ro'  w^d  lsd^;zo  forth  doth  fordi. 
reft  1^  'r^f^OTtghtr-a-Aojilb    . 
UpHeaied  by    jgged  Carso  s«uldeni'^         xr    y^/y 
With  allthe  la  Isoftmng^vanciiig/nrong.     ^  / 
This  bloody  yeai  which  thou  fulfiJlest  now, 
0  mav  it,  onw.  -d  pressing,  shine  with  thee 
And  keep  thee  or  the  fearful  morrow  strong! 

Ai   I  Version  b\ 


GJjQ^uA^ 


ITALY— BERN  ARDY  133 


THE  VOICE  OF  ITALY 


IN  THE  great  turmoil  of  nations  it  rings  with  a  tone  peculiarly 
true:  for  Italy  is  the  country  that  found  herself  confronted,  at 
the  outbreak  of  the  great  war,  by  perhaps  the  most  perplexing 
situation  of  any  of  the  present  allies.     If  she  had  chosen  to  follow 
the  way  which  lay  open  and  easy  before  her,  the  war  would  have 
long  since  been  decided  in  favor  of  the  Central  Powers.     Italy  had 
entered  the  Triple  Alliance  as  a  clean  contract,  for  an  honest  de- 
fensive purpose.     It  was  never  intended  for  a  weapon  of  aggres- 
sion.    When  Austria  and  Germany  decided  upon  the  outrage  to 
Serbia  that  was  the  cause  of  the  conflagration,  they  did  not  consult 
Italy  about  it,  knowing  well  that  Italy  would  not  have  consented;  in 
fact,  would  have  denounced  it  to  the  world.     But  they  hoped  that 
by  surprising  her  with  the  faU  accompli,  she  would  have  to  yield 
and  follow.     Italy  chose  the  long  hard  trail  instead,  incredibly 
long,  inconceivably  hard,  but  morally  right,  and  it  has  been  made 
clear  once  more  in  the  history  of  humanity,  that  "Latin"  and  "bar- 
baric" are  two  incompatible  terms. 

True  enough,  Italy  felt  in  her  owi  heart  the  cry  of  her  long- 
oppressed  children  from  Istria,  the  Trentino  and  Dalmatia  ring- 
ing just  as  loud  as  that  of  the  children  of  Belgium  and  the  women 
of  Serbia;  but  who  can  blame  her  if  history  had  it  so,  that  the 
sudden  outrage  on  other  nations  was  but  the  counterpart  of  the 
long-continued  provocation  to  the  Italian  nationality,  when  in  the 
Italian  provinces  subject  to  Austrian  rule,  the  mere  singing  of  a 
song  in  the  mother-language  brought  women  to  jail  and  children 
to  fustigation;  and  a  bunch  of  white,  red  and  green  flowers  might 
cause  an  indictment  of  high  treason?  National  aspirations  and 
international  honor  equally  called  forth  to  Italy,  and  Italy  leaped 


134     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

forth  in  answer  as  soon  as  she  could  make  her  way  clear  to  the 
fight.  She  took  it  up  where  the  political  pressure  brought  to  bear 
upon  her  in  the  name  of  European  peace  in  1866  had  compelled 
the  fatliers  of  the  present  leaders  to  retire  from  combat. 

General  Luigi  Cadoma  leads  the  offensive  of  1917  where  his 
father  Count  Raffaele  Cadoma  found  it  stopped  by  diplomatic 
arrangements  in  1866;  Garibaldi's  nephew  avenges  on  the  Col  di 
Lana  his  obbedisco  from  the  Trentino;  Francesco  Pecori-Giraldi's 
son  repels  from  Asiago  the  sons  of  those  Austrians  who  wounded 
him  at  Montanara  and  imprisoned  him  at  Mantova.  Gabriele 
d'Annunzio,  mature  in  years  and  wonderfully  youtliful  in  spirit, 
takes  up  the  national  ideals  of  the  great  master  Giosue  Carducci 
(who  died  before  he  could  see  the  dream  of  his  life  realized  with 
the  reunion  of  Trento  and  Trieste,  Istria  and  the  Italian  cities  of 
Dalmatia,  to  the  Motherland) ;  and  becomes  the  speaker  of  the 
nation  expectant  in  Genoa  and  assembled  in  Rome  to  decree  the  end 
of  the  strain  of  Italian  neutrality  which  has  to  its  credit  the  magnifi- 
cent rebellion  to  the  unscrupulous  intrigues  of  Prince  von  Biilow, 
and  the  releasing  of  five  hundred  thousand  French  soldiers  from 
the  frontier  of  Savoy  to  help  in  the  battle  of  the  Mame. 

In  D'Annunzio's  "Virgins  of  the  Rocks"  the  protagonist  ex- 
presses his  belief  that  oratory  is  a  weapon  of  war,  and  that  it  should 
be  unsheathed,  so  to  speak,  in  all  its  brilliancy  only  with  the  definite 
view  of  rousing  people  to  action.  Surely  no  man  ever  had  a 
better  chance  of  wielding  the  brilliant  weapon  than  D'Annunzio, 
in  his  triumphal  progress  through  Italy  during  that  fateful  month 
of  May,  1915,  when  he  uttered  against  neutralism  and  pacifism, 
germanophilism  and  petty  parliamentarism,  the  "quo  usque  tan- 
dem" of  the  newest  Italy. 

Nor  can  we  forget  how  Premier  Antonio  Salandra  in  his  mem- 
orable speech   from  the   Capitol,   expressed   the  living  and   the 


ITALY— BERNARDY  135 

fighting  spirit  of  Italy,  a  spirit  of  strength  and  humanity,  when  he 
said:  "I  cannot  answer  in  kind  the  insult  that  the  German 
chancellor  heaps  upon  us:  the  return  to  the  primordial  barbaric 
stage  is  so  much  harder  for  us,  who  are  twenty  centuries  ahead  of 
them  in  the  history  of  civilization."  To  support  his,  came  the 
quiet  utterances  of  Sonnino  (whose  every  word  is  a  statement  of 
Italian  right  and  a  crushing  indictment  of  Austro-German  felony) 
"proclaiming  still  once  the  firm  resolution  of  Italy,  to  continue  to 
fight  courageously  with  all  her  might,  and  at  any  sacrifice,  until 
her  most  sacred  national  aspirations  are  fulfilled  alongside  with 
such  general  conditions  of  independence,  safety  and  mutual  respect 
between  nations  as  can  alone  form  the  basis  of  a  durable  peace, 
and  represent  the  very  raison  d'etre  of  the  contract  that  binds  us 
with  our  Allies." 

This  is  tlie  voice  of  right:  the  voice  of  victory  which  upholds  it  is 
registered  frequently  in  the  admirable  war-bulletins  of  General 
Cadoma,  than  which  nothing  more  Caesarian  has  been  written  in 
the  Latin  world  since  the  days  of  Caesar.  The  simple  words  follow 
with  which  the  taking  of  Gorizia  was  announced  to  the  nation. 

"August  ninth. 
.  .  .  "Trenches  and  dugouts  have  been  found,  full  of  enemy 
corpses:  everywhere  arms  and  ammunition  and  material  of  all 
kinds  were  abandoned  by  the  routed  opponent.  Toward  dusk, 
sections  of  the  brigades  Casale  and  Pavia,  waded  through  the 
Isonzo,  bridges  having  been  destroyed  by  the  enemy,  and  settled 
strongly  on  the  left  bank.  A  column  of  cavalry  and  'bersaglieri 
ciclisti'  was  forthwith  started  in  pursuit  beyond  the  river." 

Now,  the  voice  of  Italy  is  thundering  down  from  the  Stelvio  to 
the  sea,  echoed  by  forty  thousand  shells  a  day  on  the  contested 
San  Gabriele:  a  mighty  thing  indeed,  the  voice  of  Italy  at  war;  a 


136     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

thing  of  which  all  Italians  may  well  feel  proud.  And  yet,  there  is 
another  thing  of  which  they  are  perhaps  even  prouder  in  the 
depths  of  the  national  heart:  the  voice  of  the  children  of  Italy 
"redeemed."  All  along  the  re-claimed  land,  from  Ala  to  Grade 
and  from  Darzo  to  Gorizia,  sixteen  thousand  children  of  Italian 
speech  and  of  Italian  blood,  for  whom  Italian  schools  and  Italian 
teachers  have  been  provided  even  under  the  increasing  menace  of 
the  Austrian  aircraft  or  gunfire,  join  daily  and  enthusiastically  in 
tlie  refrain  which  the  soldiers  of  Italy  are  enforcing,  but  a  few 
miles  ahead : 

"Va  fuora  d"^ Italia,  va  fuora  c^'e'  Vora, 
va  fuora  (T Italia,  va  fuora,  stranier!"  ^ 

iFrom  the  Inno  di  Garibaldi:    "Get  out  of  Italy,  it's  high  time;  get  out  of  Italy, 
stranger,  get  out!" 


JAPAN— ISHII  137 

JAPAN'S  IDEALS  AND  HER  PART  IN  THE 
STRUGGLE 

THE  PEOPLE  of  die  world,  whether  engaged  in  open  resistance 
to  German  rapacity,  or  as  onlookers,  do  well  to  see,  as  indeed 
tliey  have  seen  since  its  beginning,  that  modem  civilization  is  at 
stake.  On  every  continent,  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  Australia,  and 
both  the  Americas,  recognition  of  this  great  fact  was  instinctive.  It 
was  obvious  evei7where  that,  if  Germany  with  its  sinister  aims, 
shamelessly  avowed,  and  its  terrible  metliods,  relentlessly  carried 
out,  was  to  prevail,  all  the  progress  that  had  been  made  out  of  her 
barbarism  and  savagery  would  not  only  be  imperiled  but  lost. 

It  was  clear  that  humanity  would  have  to  begin  anew  its  weary 
struggle  out  of  the  difficulties  it  had  slowly  overcome.     Every- 
thins°of  a  high  order  that  had  been  done  from  the  beginning,  under 
great  devoted,  far-seeing  religious  leaders,  and  by  unknown  mil- 
lions who  had  fought  for  liberty,  would  have  to  be  given  up.     Rec- 
ognition of  the  potency  of  peaceful  methods  in  government  and 
industry;  the  contribution  of  the  individual  to  his  own  progress  and 
that  of  mankind;  the  gradual  triumph  of  an  ordered  freedom  over 
tyranny  and  anarchy;  all  the  achievements,  that  have  gradually 
made  the  world  over,  would  have  had  to  be  undertaken  again,  and 
that,  too,  without  the  free  contribution  from  every  quarter,  which, 
in  the  varied  history  of  men,  had  assured  the  one  great  triumph 
which   is  civilization.     The  dream  of  individual  and  national 
conquest— the  cause  of  so  much  suffering  and  bloodshed— was 
again  to  be  repeated.     This  attack  has  demanded  thus  far,  as  it 
will  demand  until  the  end,  the  united  efforts  of  practically  all  the 
people  of  the  earth  in  order  to  defeat  diis  the  most  desperate  at- 
tempt at  conquest,  undertaken  under  the  most  favorable  conditions, 


138     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

and  after  the  most  perfect  preparation  known  to  history.  If  hesita- 
tion or  treachery  had  arisen  at  any  important  point  the  well-laid 
plot  would  have  succeeded. 

Nothing  in  the  history  of  Europe,  or  of  all  the  peoples  that 
sprang  from  it  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  is  more  creditable  to 
humanity  than  the  united  resistance  which  this  attempt  aroused. 
All  that  it  meant  was  attacked  without  mercy  or  shame.  Its  relig- 
ious teachings  and  practises,  the  result  of  many  centuries  of  growth 
and  experience  were  defied  by  one  of  the  nations  professing  tlie 
same  creed.  Its  political  development,  the  result  of  struggle  under 
which  industry,  family,  and  social  growth  had  proceeded  in  regu- 
lar order  was  defied.  Its  hiunane  policies  were  to  be  replaced  by 
the  dictates  of  might — mercilessly  executed.  Its  small  peoples 
were  to  be  crushed,  and  its  greater  ones  reduced  to  the  status  of 
vassals.     In  a  word,  all  its  civilization  was  to  be  thrown  away. 

But,  at  the  first  cry  of  alarm  every  threatened  people  rose  as  if 
by  magic.  No  surprise  was  effective,  no  lack  of  preparation  de- 
terred, no  peril  brought  hesitation.  One  by  one,  all  jealousies 
were  dissipated,  all  past  differences  were  forgotten,  the  common 
danger  was  recognized,  and  they  united,  as  humanity  had  never 
done  before,  in  that  resistance  to  German  ambitions  which  the 
world  now  sees  as  its  one  great  event,  past  or  present. 

If  this  threat  to  civilization  was  thus  met  by  Europe  how  much 
more  serious  was  the  aspect  which  it  presented  to  us  in  Japan!  We 
were  more  than  mere  participators  in  this  civilization.  We  had 
grafted  upon  our  own  life,  old,  balanced,  remote,  isolated,  the 
creator  of  great  traditions,  the  newer  and  different  ideas  of  Europe, 
assimilating  the  best  of  them  without  losing  these  that  were  strong 
and  potent  among  our  own.  They  had  been  fused  into  our  life 
and,  in  the  process,  had  enabled  us  to  make  an  enlarged  contribu- 
tion to  human  progress.     We  had  become  so  much  a  part  of  the 


JAPAN— ISHIl  139 

world  that  nothing  in  it  was  alien  to  us.  We  had  always  known, 
even  from  the  earliest  times,  what  our  people  were,  what  they  meant 
and  what  they  could  do.  We  were  in  no  wise  ignorant  of  our  own 
powers  and  achievements  but  this  new  knowledge  was  akin  to  the 
addition  of  a  new  sense. 

When  this  threat  against  mankind  came  we  also  saw  instinctively 
that  it  was  even  more  of  a  peril  to  us  than  to  Europe.  We  saw 
that  civilization  was  not  a  thing  of  continents,  or  nations,  or  races, 
but  of  mankind,  that  in  the  evolution  of  human  forces,  men  were 
one  in  purpose  and  need.  If  Europe  was  to  be  crushed,  it  was  only 
a  question  of  time  until  all  that  Europe  had  done  for  the  world  in 
America,  or  the  Antipodes,  or  in  the  islands  of  the  sea,  would 
follow  it.  Then  would  come  our  turn,  then  all  Asia  would  be 
thrown  into  tyranny's  crucible,  and  the  world  must  begin  anew.  It 
was  not  a  mere  diplomatic  alliance  that  drew  us  into  the  contest. 
Our  own  struggles  had  not  been  those  of  aggression;  but  it  was  easy 
to  see  what  ruthless  conquest  meant  even  if  it  seemed  to  be  far 
away.  Therefore,  we  acted  promptly  and  we  hope  with  efficiency 
and  have  since  carried  on  the  work  in  the  sphere  allotted  to  us 
by  nature  with  a  devotion  that  has  never  flagged.  It  has  been  our 
duty  not  to  reason  why,  but  to  help  in  saving  the  world  without 
bargains,  or  dickerings,  or  suggestions,  thus  bearing  our  part  in  the 
rescue  of  civilization  from  its  perils. 

As  we  see  our  duty,  and  the  duty  of  the  world,  only  one  thing  is 
left  to  do.  It  is  to  fight  out  this  war  which  neither  we  nor  any  other 
people  or  nation,  other  than  the  aggressors,  have  sought.  It  must 
be  fought  to  the  end  without  wavering,  without  thought  of  national 
or  individual  advantages.  The  victors  are  to  be  victors  for  civili- 
zation and  the  world,  not  for  themselves.  The  contest  upon  which 
we  are  unitedly  engaged  will  not  only  end  this  war;  upon  its  result 
will  depend  the  extinction  of  all  wars  of  aggression.     No  oppor- 


140  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

tunity  must  ever  come  again  for  any  nation  or  people,  or  any 
combination  of  nations  or  peoples,  however  strong  or  numerous, 
to  seek  tliat  universal  domination  shown  by  experience  to  be  impos- 
sible, which,  if  it  were  possible,  would  mean  the  destruction  of 
human  progress. 

We  are  proud  to  be  associated  with  America  as  Allies  in  so  great 
a  cause.  Our  duty  thus  keeps  pace  with  our  obligation  and  both 
are  guided  by  our  highest  desires.  We,  like  you,  have  enlisted 
until  the  war  is  settled  and  settled  right;  you,  like  ourselves,  have 
no  favors  to  ask,  both  merely  ask  that  they  may  live  their  own  lives, 
settle  their  own  problems,  smooth  out  their  common  differences  or 
difficulties,  and  do  their  best,  along  with  all  other  peoples,  to  make 
the  world  a  better,  not  a  worse,  place  to  live  in. 


1 


LATIN  AMERICA— DE  LA  SELVA  141 

TROPICAL  INTERLUDE 

I    TROPICAL  MORNING 

In  the  mornings— Oh,  the  tropical  mornings 
When  the  bells  are  all  so  dizzily  calling  one  to  prayer!— 
All  my  tliought  was  to  watch  from  a  nook  in  my  window 
Indian  girls  from  the  river  with  flowers  in  their  hair. 

Some  bore 

Fresh  eggs  in  wicker  boxes 

For  the  grocery  store; 

Others,  baskets  of  fruit;  and  some, 

The  skins  of  mountain  cats  and  foxes 

Caught  in  traps  at  home. 

They  all  passed  so  stately  by,  they  all  walked  so  gracefully, 
Balancing  their  bodies  on  lithe  unstable  hips. 
As  if  a  music  moved  them  that  swelled  in  their  bosoms 
And  was  pizzicatti  at  their  finger-tips. 

II    TROPICAL  RAIN 

The  rain,  in  Nicaragua,  it  is  a  witch  they  say; 

She  puts  the  world  into  her  bag  and  blows  the  skies  away; 

And  so,  in  every  home,  the  little  children  gather. 

Run  up  like  little  animals  and  kneel  beside  the  Mother, 

So  frightened  by  the  thunder  that  they  can  hardly  pray. 

"Sweet  Jesu,  you  that  stilled  the  storm  in  Galilee, 
Pity  the  homeless  now,  and  the  travelers  by  sea; 
Pity  the  little  birds  that  have  no  nest,  that  are  forlorn; 


142     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY, 

Pity  the  butterfly,  pity  the  honey  bee; 

Pity  the  roses  tliat  are  so  helpless,  and  the  unsheltered  com. 

And  pity  me.  .  .  ." 

Then,  when  the  rain  is  over  and  the  children's  prayer  is  said. 
Oh,  joy  of  swaying  palm-trees  with  the  rainbows  overhead, 
And  the  streets  swollen  like  rivers,  and  the  wet  earth's  smell. 
And  all  the  ants  with  sudden  wings  filling  the  heart  with  wonder, 
And,  afar,  the  tempest  vanishing  with  a  stifled  thunder 
In  a  glare  of  lurid  radiance  from  the  gaping  mouth  of  hell! 

Ill    TROPICAL  PARK 

1  HE  park  in  Leon  is  but  a  garden 
Where  grass  and  roses  grow  together; 
It  has  no  ordinance,  it  has  no  warden 
Except  the  weather. 

Tlie  paths  are  made  of  sand  so  fine 
That  they  are  always  smooth  and  neat; 
Sunlight  and  moonlight  make  them  shine. 
And  so  one's  feet 

Seem  always  to  tread  on  magic  ground 
That  gleams,  and  that  whispers  curiously, 
For  sand,  when  you  tread  it,  has  the  sound 
Of  the  sea. 

Sometimes  the  band,  of  a  warm  night, 
Makes  music  in  that  little  park. 
And  lovers  haunt,  beyond  the  bright 
Foot-paths,  the  dark. 


LATIN  AMERICA— DE  LA  SELVA  143 

You  can  almost  tell  what  they  do  and  say 
Listening  to  the  sound  of  the  sand, — 
How  warm  lips  whisper,  and  glances  play. 
And  hand  seeks  hand. 

IV    TROPICAL  TOWN 

JJLUE,  pink  and  yellow  houses,  and,  afar, 
The  cemetery,  where  the  green  trees  are. 

Sometimes  you  see  a  hungry  dog  pass  by. 
And  there  are  always  buzzards  in  tlie  sky. 
Sometimes  you  hear  the  big  cathedral  bell, 
A  blindman  rings  it;  and  sometimes  you  hear 
A  rumbling  ox-cart  that  brings  wood  to  sell. 
Else  nothing  ever  breaks  the  ancient  spell 
That  holds  the  town  asleep,  save,  once  a  year. 
The  Easter  festival.  ... 

I  come  from  there, 
And  when  I  tire  of  hoping,  and  despair 
Is  heavy  over  me,  my  thoughts  go  far, 
Beyond  that  length  of  lazy  street,  to  where 
The  lonely  green  trees  and  the  white  graves  are. 

V    TROPICAL  HOUSE 

When  the  winter  comes,  I  will  take  you  to  Nicaragua— 

You  will  love  it  there! 

You  will  love  my  home,  my  house  in  Nicaragua, 

So  large  and  queenly  looking,  with  a  haughty  air 

That  seems  to  tell  the  mountains,  the  mountains  of  Nicaragua, 

"You  may  roar  and  you  may  tremble  for  all  I  care!" 


144     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY, 

It  is  shadowy  and  cool, 

Has  a  garden  in  the  middle  where  fruit  trees  grow. 

And  poppies,  like  a  little  army,  row  on  row, 

And  jasmine  bushes  that  will  make  you  think  of  snow 

They  are  so  white  and  light,  so  perfect  and  so  frail, 

And  when  the  wind  is  blowing  they  fly  and  flutter  so. 

The  bath  is  in  the  garden,  like  a  sort  of  pool, 

With  walls  of  honeysuckle  and  orchids  all  around; 

The  humming  birds  are  always  making  a  sleepy  sound; 

In  the  night  there's  the  Aztec  nightingale; 

But  when  the  moon  is  up,  in  Nicaragua, 

The  moon  of  Nicaragua  and  the  million  stars. 

It's  the  human  heart  that  sings,  and  the  heart  of  Nicaragua, 

To  the  pleading,  plaintive  music  of  guitars! 


y/v^c/^9***-->^  //^"v^y'^^^/^^ 


LATIN  AMERICA— ELLIOTT.  145 

LATIN  AMERICA  AND  THE  WAR 

IN  COMMON  with  many  other  parts  of  the  world,  even  some  of 
those  immediately  involved,  Latin  America  received  the  out- 
break of  the  European  War  with  dismayed  astonishment,  with  a 
feeling  that  it  could  not  be  true,  with  mental  confusion  as  to  the 
real  causes  and  objects  of  the  conflict.  A  survey  of  newspapers 
from  Mexico  to  Cape  Horn  during  August,  1914,  to  the  end  of  that 
year  shows  plainly  that  for  several  months  public  opinion  had  not 
cleared  up,  that  the  conflict  seemed  to  be  a  frightful  blunder,  a 
terrific  misunderstanding,  that  might  have  been  avoided,  and  for 
which  no  one  nation  in  particular  was  to  blame. 

The  deep  love  of  Latin  America  for  Latin  Europe  imdoubtedly 
meant  great  sympathy  for  France ;  England,  too,  the  great  investor 
in  and  developer  of  South  America,  was  watched  with  good  feel- 
ing; but  Germany  too  has  done  much  for  Latin  American  com- 
merce and  shipping  facilities,  a  work  performed  with  skilfully 
regulated  tact,  and  very  many  sections  of  the  southern  republics 
were  loth  to  believe  that  a  nation  so  friendly  and  so  industriously 
commercial  had  deliberately  planned  the  war. 

But  as  time  went  on  evidence  accumulated;  the  martyrdom  of 
Belgium  and  North  France,  the  use  of  poisonous  gas,  the  instiga- 
tion of  revolts  in  tlie  colonies  of  the  Entente  Allies,  the  sinking  of 
the  Lusitania,  the  shooting  of  Nurse  Cavell,  and  above  all  the 
proofs  of  the  enormous  military  preparations  of  Germany,  slowly 
convinced  Latin  America  that  a  great  scheme  had  long  been  per- 
fected; the  book  of  Tannenburg  which  showed  huge  tracts  of 
South  America  as  part  of  the  future  world  dominion  of  Germany 
was  seen  to  be  no  crazy  dream  of  an  individual  but  the  revelation 
of  a  widely  held  Teutonic  ideal.     Many  incidents  occurring  in  the 


146     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

United  States  and  Canada,  such  as  explosions  and  fires  in  factories 
of  war  materials,  exposure  of  spies  and  diplomatic  intrigue,  dem- 
onstrated a  callous  abuse  of  American  hospitality  which  the  more 
southerly  lands  took  to  heart  as  lessons;  their  dawning  perception 
of  the  network  of  German  efi^ort  was  further  clarified  by  the  floods 
of  Teutonic  propaganda  which  covered  every  Latin  American  Re- 
public and  which  was  in  many  instances  speedily  ridiculed  by  the 
keen-witted  native  press. 

Frank  in  their  expression  of  opinion,  no  sooner  had  Latin 
Americans  resolved  in  their  own  minds  the  question  of  responsi- 
bility for  the  war  than  they  gave  utterance  to  their  opinions;  jour- 
nals avowed  themselves  pro-Ally,  large  subscriptions  were  raised 
in  many  sections  for  the  relief  of  the  European  sufferers,  particu- 
larly Belgium,  and  a  number  of  young  men  joined  the  Entente 
armies.  In  Brazil,  which  was  always  supposed  to  have  a  German 
bias  on  account  of  her  large  German  colonies,  some  of  the  foremost 
publicists  and  writers  voluntarily  formed  the  Liga  pelos  Alliados 
(League  in  favor  of  the  Allies)  with  the  famous  orator,  Ruy  Bar- 
bosa,  at  its  head,  and  the  prince  of  Brazilian  poets,  Olavo  Bilac,  as 
one  of  its  most  active  members;  the  League  was  organized  early 
in  1915  and  its  meetings  were  characterized  by  the  warmest  pro- 
Ally  utterances;  many  members  of  the  Brazilian  Congress  joined 
it,  and  I  never  heard  any  Administrative  protest  on  the  score  of 
neutrality. 

Later  in  the  same  year  Bilac,  who  is  the  object  of  fervent  admi- 
ration, for  Latin  America  often  pays  more  attention  to  her  poets  than 
to  her  politicians,  showed  that  he  foresaw  the  entry  of  his  country 
into  tlie  conflict  by  a  passionate  appeal  to  the  youth  of  Brazil  to 
fortify  themselves  by  military  discipline,  in  1916  repeating  his 
"call  to  arms"  in  a  tour  throughout  that  great  country.  By  this 
time  the  whole  of  Latin  America  was  lined  up,  the  overwhelming 


LATIN  AMERICA— ELLIOTT  147 

mass  of  press  and  people  declaring  pro- Ally,  and  especially  pro- 
French,  sympathies,  while  tlie  few  ranged  in  the  opposite  camp 
generally  had  special  reasons  for  their  choice,  consisting  of  some 
individual  Germanic  link.  The  fact  of  the  prevalence  of  pro-Ally 
feeling,  long  before  any  of  the  American  countries  became  politi- 
cally aligned  is,  I  think,  a  remarkable  tribute  to  tlie  response  of 
Latin  America  to  the  weight  of  genuine  evidence;  no  propaganda 
was  made  by  any  one  of  the  Allied  governments,  and  the  solidifi- 
cation of  public  opinion  was  due  to  Latin  American  feeling  and 
not  to  outside  pressure. 

When,  in  April  of  this  year,  the  United  States  was  driven  to  a 
breach  with  Germany  on  account  of  tlie  torpedoing  of  her  ships 
and  loss  of  her  citizens'  lives,  she  was  the  greatest  material  sufferer 
from  German  submarine  aggression;  if  Latin  America  in  general 
maintained  at  that  date,  and  still  in  some  sections  maintains,  diplo- 
matic relations  with  the  Central  Powers,  it  is  largely  because  they 
have  endured  no  specific  injury  at  German  hands.     Few  Latm 
American  States  possess  a  merchant  marine  traversing  the  sea 
danger  zones.     But  the  entry  of  the  United  States  was  regarded 
with  warm  approval;  her  cause  was  acknowledged  to  be  just  and  the 
Latin  American  press  reflects  nothing  but  admiration  for  her  step. 
The  Republics  of  Cuba,  Panama,  Guatemala,  Honduras,  and  in  an 
informal  manner,  Costa  Rica,  as  well  as  the  more  or  less  American- 
controlled  Nicaragua,  Haiti  and  Santo  Domingo,  quickly  aligned 
themselves  with  the  United  States,  with  whose  fortunes  their  own 
are  closely  connected. 

Brazil,  revoking  her  decree  of  neutrality  in  June,  1917,  was 
perhaps  influenced  to  some  degree  by  the  action  of  the  United 
States,  but  she  had  her  own  specific  reason  in  the  sinking  of  three 
of  her  merchant  vessels  by  German  submarines;  Brazil  possesses 
an  enterprising  and  good  mercantile  marine,  has  been  carrymg 


148     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

coffee  and  frozen  meat  to  Europe  during  the  war  and  her  ships  have 
thus  been  constantly  exposed  to  risk.  The  sinking  of  her  vessels 
raised  a  storm  of  anger,  the  popular  voice  warmly  supporting  the 
acts  of  tlie  government.  Nor  is  the  alignment  of  Brazil  a  mere 
declaration;  she  has  taken  over  the  forty-six  German  and  Aus- 
trian ships  lying  in  her  ports,  and  much  of  this  tonnage,  totalling 
300,000  tons,  is  already  in  carrying  service  after  three  years' 
idleness,  two  of  the  vessels  having  been  handed  over  to  the  use  of 
the  Allies.  Brazil  is  also  taking  over  the  patrol  of  a  big  strip  of 
tlie  south-western  Atlantic  with  fifteen  units  of  her  excellent  navy. 

Bolivia  was  another  South  American  country  which  quickly  fol- 
lowed the  United  States  in  breaking  relations  with  Germany,  and 
this  was  done  not  because  Bolivia  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the 
Teutonic  powers  but  because  she  "wishes  to  show  her  sympathy 
with  the  United  States  and  felt  it  the  duty  of  every  democracy  to 
ally  itself  with  tlie  cause  of  justice."  With  no  coast  and  there- 
fore no  mercantile  marine,  Bolivia  is  however  greatly  interested 
in  the  shipments  of  rubber  and  minerals  which  she  sends  abroad 
and  some  of  which  have  been  sent  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  by 
torpedoes;  her  sympathies  with  the  Entente  Allies  are  undoubted. 

On  October  6  relations  with  Germany  were  broken  by  Peru, 
the  determining  factor  being  the  torpedoing  of  the  Peruvian  vessel 
Lorton;  on  October  7  the  National  Assembly  of  Uruguay  voted 
for  a  breach  with  Germany,  thus  completing  the  attitude  which  she 
had  frankly  declared  many  months  previously,  when  she  protested 
against  Germany's  methods  in  submarine  warfare.  Paraguay, 
although  still  formally  neutral,  has  expressed  her  sympathy  with 
the  United  States. 

Before  I  pass  to  a  few  quotations  from  Latin  American  sources 
OQ  the  subject  of  their  spirit,  it  is  well  to  look  across  the  seas  to  the 


LATIN  AMERICA— ELLIOTT  149 

Mother  Countries,  whose  sentiments  and  actions  have  more  effect 
upon  Latin  America  than  is  always  remembered.  There  is,  for 
instance,  no  doubt  that  die  entry  of  Portugal  into  the  war  on  the 
side  of  her  ancient  ally,  England,  profoundly  affected  the  Brazilian 
mind;  the  friendship  between  England  and  Portugal  dates  from 
1147,  and  an  unbroken  political  treaty  has  lasted  since  1386 — the 
longest  in  history-;  ^  Brazil  as  the  child  of  Portugal  inherited  tlie 
English  good  feeling,  her  independence  from  tlie  Mother  Country 
was  effected  without  any  prolonged  bitterness,  and  with  the  actual 
assistance  of  England.  When,  then,  Brazil  saw  the  people  sprung 
from  the  cradle  of  her  race  fighting  side  by  side  with  tlie  ancient 
friend  of  both  she  was  deeply  stirred.  Portuguese  merchants 
prosper  in  large  numbers  in  Brazil,  Portuguese  news  daily  fills 
space  in  the  Brazilian  newspapers;  the  cry  of  tliat  great  Portuguese, 
Theophilo  Braga,  found  echoes  in  many  a  gallant  Brazilian  heart: 

"And  with  what  arms  shall  Portugal  engage. 
So  little  as  she  is,  in  such  great  feats? 
They  call  on  her  to  play  a  leading  part 
Who  know  that  in  the  Lusitanian  heart 
Love  beats!" 

In  a  corresponding  degree  there  seems  to  be  litde  doubt  that  the 
neutral  attitude  which  Spain  has  maintained  is  partly  responsible 
for  the  neutrality  of  several  South  American  countries;  they  do 
not  forget  die  bloody  years  of  struggle  before  they  attained  inde- 
pendence from  Spain,  but  they  are  wise  enough  to  differentiate 
between  die  policy  of  Ferdinand  VII  and  the  heart  of  Spain.     Dr. 

lAn  English  poet  wrote  in  the  Fourteenth  Century: 

"Portingallers  with  us  have  troth  in  hand 
Whose  marchandise  cometh  much  into  England 
They  are  our  friends  with  their  commodities 
And  we  English  passen  into  their  counUies." 


150     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Belisario  Porras,  the  ex-President  of  Panama,  and  a  distinguished 
scholar  and  writer  said  in  May,  1917: 

"For  us  of  Central  and  South  America,  Iberianism  is  a  matter 
of  sentiment,  affection  and  veneration,  not  a  matter  of  politics. 
Spain  is  our  Mother  Country,  whence  we  came,  where  the  names 
we  bear  are  also  borne,  where  the  memories  and  ashes  of  our 
ancestors  are  guarded,  of  whose  deeds  we  are  proud,  whose  tongue 
we  speak,  whose  religion  we  share,  whose  heroic  character  and 
customs  we  admire.  .  .  .  Spain  is  our  pole  star,  the  star  to  which 
we  raise  our  eyes  when  we  are  despairing  and  when  we  face  a  sac- 
rifice for  God,  for  a  woman,  a  child,  or  our  country." 

Spain  has  had,  of  course,  up  to  the  present,  no  direct  national 
injury  to  resent;  she  has  on  the  other  hand  several  reasons  for 
remaining  politically  neutral  and  can  at  present  do  so  with  honor; 
although  she  is  weak  and  poor,  still  exhausted  by  the  long  conflicts 
of  her  past,  without  resources,  without  any  notable  strength  in 
army  or  navy,  she  is  serving  as  an  indispensable  channel  of  com- 
munication. She,  as  well  as  many  South  American  countries,  can 
best  aid  the  world  by  concentrating  upon  production;  in  addition 
to  this,  she  is,  in  company  with  Holland,  rendering  excellent  serv- 
ice in  feeding  unhappy  Belgium,  replacing  American  workers. 

Spain  is  not  intellectually  neutral  or  unmindful  of  the  effect  of 
her  attitude  upon  Latin  America,  and  this  is  shown  by  the  number 
of  newspapers  on  the  Allies'  side,  as  La  Epoca  and  La  Corres- 
pondencia  de  Espana.  An  immediate  response  was  given  to  the 
pro-Ally  utterances  of  the  Conde  de  Romanones,  who  said  on 
April  17: 

"Spain  is  the  depository  of  the  spiritual  patrimony  of  a  great 
race.  She  has  historical  aspirations  to  preside  over  the  moral 
confederation  of  all  the  nations  of  our  blood,  and  this  hope  will 
be  definitely  destroyed  if,  at  a  moment  so  decisive  for  the  future 


LATIN  AMERICA— ELLIOTT  151 

as  this,  Spain  and  her  children  are  shown  to  be  spiritually  di- 
vorced." 

If  Spain  fails  in  leadership  the  love  of  Latin  America  for  France 
will  be  the  more  emphasized,  is  the  conclusion  one  draws  from  the 
speeches  and  writings  of  Ibero-America.  The  degree  to  which 
South  America  feels  herself  involved  in  the  fate  of  France  is  dis- 
played in  such  dicta  as  this  of  Victor  Viana,  a  Brazilian  writer: 

"In  the  great  Latin  family,  France  is  the  educator,  the  leader, 
tlie  example,  tlie  pride.  Thus  Brazil,  in  common  with  all  Latin 
countries,  seeing  in  France  the  reservoir  of  mental  energy,  con- 
stantly renewed  by  her  splendid  intellectuals,  has  as  much  inter- 
est in  the  victory  of  French  arms  as  France  herself.  The  over- 
throw of  France  would  have  produced  a  generation  of  unbelievers 
and  skeptics,  and  we,  in  another  clime  and  a  new  country,  should 
not  have  been  able  to  escape  this  influence,  because  we  share  all 
the  movements  of  French  thought.  The  reaction  of  French  energy 
which  created  the  present  generation  spread  throughout  Brazil  new 
sentiments  of  patriotism.  .  .  .  The  entire  world,  except  naturally 
the  combatants  on  the  other  side,  recognize  the  justice  of  the  cause 
of  France,  which  is  the  cause  of  all  the  other  Allies,  of  Belgium 
which  sacrificed  herself,  of  England  which  pledges  her  all  to  save 
the  right,  of  the  United  States,  of  the  entire  Americas." 

While  I  have  been  writing  these  notes  the  political  situation  of 
Argentina  in  regard  to  the  war  has  suddenly  crystallized;  extending 
over  several  months  there  has  been  a  series  of  submarine  attacks 
upon  vessels  of  Argentina,  indignant  protests  in  each  case  being 
met  by  apologies  and  promises  of  indemnity  on  the  part  of  Ger- 
many. There  has  been  much  irritation  in  spite  of  these  promises, 
cumulative  irritation,  which  however  might  have  remained  sub- 
merged had  it  not  been  for  the  revelations  of  the  acts  of  Count 


152     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Luxburg,  which  have  made  the  expression  "spurlos  versenkt"  a 
byword.  This  exhibition  of  callous  plotting  against  Argentine 
lives  immediately  resulted  in  the  handing  of  passports  to  the  Ger- 
man Ambassador  to  Argentina,  and  during  tlie  third  week  in  Sep- 
tember both  houses  of  Congress  voted  by  large  majorities  for  a 
severance  of  relations  with  Germany.  That  this  step  was  not,  at 
the  moment,  consummated,  was  due  to  President  Irigoyen's  wish 
to  accept  the  satisfaction  offered  by  Germany;  but  the  sentiments 
of  Argentina  as  a  whole  have  been  fully  demonstrated. 

Their  action  plainly  showed  the  temper  of  the  Argentine  people, 
who  have  certainly  never  been  unsympathetic  to  the  Entente  Allies' 
cause  although  tliey  have  shown  some  restiveness  under  rather 
tactless  attempts  on  the  part  of  a  section  of  the  United  States  press 
to  tutor  them  into  line.  The  best  thought  of  Argentina  has  all 
along  been  with  the  Allies  and  this  is  exemplified  by  an  article, 
"Neutrality  Impossible,"  widely  published  and  applauded  in  June 
of  this  year  by  the  brilliant  Argentine  writer  and  poet  Leopoldo 
Lugones: 

"Inevitably  War  knocks  at  our  door.  We  are  compelled  to 
make  a  decision.  Either  we  must  respect  the  integrity  of  our  past 
in  the  name  of  the  American  solidarity  which  is  the  law  of  life  and 
honor  for  all  the  nations  of  the  continent,  revealing  at  the  same  time 
intelligence  with  regard  to  our  own  future,  or  we  must  submit  our- 
selves, grossly  cowardly,  to  the  terrorism  of  despots." 

CUBA 

X  HE  United  States  broke  relations  with  Germany  on  April  6. 
On  April  7  Dr.  Jose  Manuel  Cortina,  speaking  before  the  Cuban 
House  of  Representatives,  when  the  decree  of  war  against  Germany 
was  passed,  said: 


LATIN  AMERICA— ELLIOTT  153 

"We  have  resolved  to  give  our  unanimous  and  definite  consent 
to  the  proposition  submitted  to  the  House  to  declare  a  state  of  war 
between  the  Republic  of  Cuba  and  the  German  Empire,  and  to 
join,  in  this  great  conflagration  of  die  world,  our  efforts  to  those  of 
the  United  States  of  North  America.  We  fight  in  tliis  conflict, 
which  will  decide  the  trend  of  all  morality  and  civilization  in  the 
universe,  united  to  the  great  republic  which  in  a  day  not  long  dis- 
tant drew  her  sword  and  fired  her  guns  over  Cuban  fields  and  seas 
in  battle  for  our  liberty  and  sovereignty.  We  go  to  fight  as 
brothers  beside  that  great  people  who  have  been  ever  the  friends 
and  protectors  of  Cuba,  who  aided  us  during  the  darkest  days  of 
our  tragic  history,  in  moments  when  opposed  by  enormous  strength, 
we  had  nearly  disappeared  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  when  we 
had  no  other  refuge,  no  other  loyal  and  magnanimous  friend  than 
the  great  North  American  people." 

HAITI 

OPEECH  of  the  President  of  Haiti,  M.  Philippe  Sudre  Darti- 
guenave,  on  May  12,  previous  to  Haiti's  breach  with  Germany: 

"What  cause  could  be  more  holy  tlian  that  defended  at  tliis  mo- 
ment, with  unanimous  and  admirable  enthusiasm  by  the  people 
of  the  United  States,  by  Cuba,  by  a  great  deal  of  Latin  America,  in 
moral  cooperation  with  the  Entente  Powers!  At  Savannah,  we 
fought  with  the  soldiers  of  Washington  for  the  independence  of 
the  country  of  Franklin,  of  Lincoln,  of  John  Brown.  ...  At  the 
cry  of  distress  of  Bolivar,  did  we  not  throw  ourselves  into  the 
South  America's  struggle  for  independence?  The  task  before 
us  in  this  supreme  moment  is  worthy,  glorious,  because  it  is  that  of 
international  justice,  the  liberty  of  nations,  of  civilization,  of  all 
Humanity." 


154  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 

CENTRAL  AMERICA 

i\.S  WE  have  seen  above,  four  of  the  Central  American  Repub- 
lics have  aligned  themselves  with  the  United  States  since  her  entry 
into  the  war,  Guatemala,  Nicaragua  and  Honduras  breaking  off 
diplomatic  relations  with  Germany  very  shortly  after  the  definite 
action  of  tlie  United  States  was  known,  the  statement  of  Don 
Joaquin  Mendez  representing  tlie  prevalent  feeling:  "The  rupture 
has  aligned  Guatemala  ipso  facto  with  those  who  are  the  defenders 
of  the  modem  ideas  of  democracy  and  freedom."  Small  in  size 
and  limited  in  resources,  it  is  not  likely  that  any  active  part  will  be 
taken  by  Central  America  in  the  war;  she  is  removed  from  the 
most  dangerous  zones  and  will  not  suffer,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  more 
tlian  the  inevitable  and  temporary  economic  embarrassments  due 
to  dislocation  of  the  world's  industrial  systems.  But  her  spirit  is 
reflected  in  such  announcements  as  this  notice  from  the  front  page 
of  a  little  daily  paper  published  in  S.  Pedro  Sula,  Honduras: 

"This  periodical  is  Latin  and  as  such  professes  its  sympathy  in 
favor  of  the  Allied  nations  now  struggling  so  nobly  in  defense  of 
Liberty  with,  as  their  aim,  the  establishment  of  a  lasting  peace 
which  will  render  impossible  the  future  development  of  schemes 
of  conquest." 

The  position  of  Costa  Rica,  informally  aligned  with  the  Allies 
and  the  United  States,  is  peculiar  in  that  she  cannot  formalize  hei 
position  until  her  new  government  has  received  the  recognition  of 
these  countries.  Don  Ricardo  Fernandez  Guardia,  the  foremost 
writer  of  Costa  Rica,  says  that  "The  fact  that  we  have  offered  the 
use  of  our  ports,  since  April  9,  1917,  to  the  navy  of  the  United 
States,  undoubtedly  constitutes  a  breach  of  neutrality,  and  in  con- 
sequence Costa  Rica  considers  herself  as  enlisted  in  the  ranks  of 
the  Allies  de  facto.     There  is  an  overwhelming  sentiment  of  sym- 


LATIN  AMERICA— ELLIOTT  155 

pathy  with  the  Allies  both  on  the  part  of  the  government  and  the 
great  majority  of  the  people  of  Costa  Rica." 

Panama,  immediately  following  the  news  of  the  United  States' 
breach  with  Germany,  declared  herself  "ready  to  do  all  within 
her  power  to  protect  the  Panama  Canal";  Uruguay,  although  mak- 
ing no  breach  of  relations  with  the  Central  Powers,  supported 
United  States  action  and  denounced  submarine  warfare  as  carried 
on  by  Germany;  Paraguay,  too,  expressed  her  sympathy  with  the 
United  States  which  she  said  "was  forced  to  enter  the  war  to  re- 
establish the  rights  of  neutrals." 

Thus  the  only  Latin  American  nations  which  have  rigidly  pre- 
served a  neutral  attitude  are  Mexico,  whose  own  internal  prob- 
lems form  an  entirely  sufficient  reason;  Ecuador,  Venezuela  and 
Colombia.  They  are  still  political  neutrals,  but  no  one  who  knows 
the  Latin  soul  can  doubt  that  there  is  in  each  of  these  lands  a  strong 
feeling  of  admiration  for  the  vindication  of  Latin  elasticity  which 
France  and  Italy  and  Portugal  have  shown,  and  for  the  dogged 
might  of  England  whose  naval  skill  has  prevented  the  strangulation 
of  the  commerce  of  the  world;  in  this  matter  all  these  lands  are 
interested,  since  all  are  raw-material  producers  shipping  their 
products  abroad.  This  sentiment  was  concisely  expressed  by  Ruy 
Barbosa,  the  Brazilian  orator,  when  on  August  5  the  Liga  pelos 
Alliados  held  a  meeting  of  "homage  to  England"  on  the  third 
anniversary  of  her  entry  into  war,  and  he  declared  it  "an  honor 
and  pleasure  to  salute  the  great  English  nation  to  whom  we  owe 
in  this  war  the  liberty  of  the  seas  and  the  annihilation  of  German 
methods  upon  the  ocean,  without  which  European  resistance  to  the 
German  attack  and  the  preservation  of  the  independence  of  the 
American  continent  would  be  impossible." 

Nothing  would,  I  think,  be  more  improper  than  that  any  nation 
should  be  urged  to  enter  tlie  war  against  her  own  feelings;  but  for 


156  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

those  who  have  taken  or  may  yet  take  that  step  there  is  one  very 
high  consideration  which  cannot  be  forgotten — the  effect  upon  the 
national  spirit  of  To-morrow  of  a  gallant  and  decisive  attitude 
Today.  Who  has  more  finely  expressed  this  sense  of  the  formation 
of  the  heritage  of  ideas  than  the  modem  Portuguese  poet  Quental? 

*Even  as  the  winds  the  pinewood  cones  down  cast 
Upon  the  ground  and  scatter  by  their  blowing 
And  one  by  one,  down  to  the  very  last. 
The  seeds  along  the  mountain  ridge  are  sowing. 
Even  so,  by  winds  of  time,  ideas  are  strown 
Little  by  little,  though  none  see  them  fly — 
And  thus  in  all  the  fields  of  life  are  sown 
The  vast  plantations  of  posterity. 


jvt;,^„^^.<5t\Jv- 


October  20,  1917. 

*Odcs  Modemas,  by  Anthero  de  Quental,  translated  bj  George  Young. 


LATIN  AMERICA— DE  LA  SELVA  157 

DRILL 

WUliams  CoUege,  AprU,  1917 

\JNE!  two,  three,  four! 

One!  two,  three,  four! 

One,  two!  .  .  . 

It  is  hard  to  keep  in  time 

Marching  through 

The  rutted  slime 

With  no  drum  to  play  for  you. 

One!  two,  three,  four! 

And  the  shuffle  of  five  hundred  feet 

Till  the  marching  line  is  neat. 

Then  the  wet  New  England  valley 
With  die  purple  hills  around 
Takes  us  gently,  musically, 
With  a  kindly  heart  and  willing. 
Thrilling,  filling  with  the  sound 
Of  our  drilling. 

Battle  fields  are  far  away. 
All  the  world  about  me  seems 
The  fulfilment  of  my  dreams. 
God,  how  good  it  is  to  be 
Young  and  glad  to-day! 

One!  two,  three,  four! 
One,  two,  three!  .  •  . 


158     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Now,  as  never  before, 

From  the  vastness  of  the  sky, 

Falls  on  me  the  sense  of  war. 

Now,  as  never  before. 

Comes  the  feeling  that  to  die 

Is  no  duty  vain  and  sore. 

Something  calls  and  speaks  to  me: 

Cloud  and  hill  and  stream  and  tree; 

Something  calls  and  speaks  to  me. 

From  the  earth,  familiarly. 

I  will  rise  and  I  will  go, 

As  the  rivers  flow  to  sea. 

As  the  sap  mounts  up  the  tree 

That  the  flowers  may  blow — 

God,  my  God, 

All  my  soul  is  out  of  me! 

God,  my  God, 

Your  world  is  much  too  beautiful !  I  feel 

My  senses  melt  and  reel, 

And  my  heart  aches  as  if  a  sudden  steel 

Had  pierced  me  tlirough  and  through. 

I  cannot  bear 

This  vigorous  sweetness  in  your  air; 

The  sunlight  smites  me  heavy  blow  on  blow. 

My  soul  is  black  and  blue 

And  blind  and  dizzy.     God,  my  mortal  eyes 

Cannot  resist  the  onslaught  of  your  skies! 

I  am  no  wind,  I  cannot  rise  and  go 

Tearing  in  madness  to  tlie  woods  and  sea; 

I  am  no  tree, 


LATIN  AMERICA— DE  LA  SELVA  159 

I  cannot  push  the  earth  and  lift  and  grow; 
I  am  no  rock 

To  stand  immovable  against  this  shock. 
Behold  me  now,  a  too  desirous  thing, 
Passionate  lover  of  your  ardent  Spring, 
Held  in  her  arms  too  fast,  too  fiercely  pressed 
Against  her  thundering  breast 
That  leaps  and  crushes  me! 

One!  two,  three,  four! 
One!  two,  three,  four! 
One,  tivo,  three!  .  .  . 

So  it  shall  be 

In  Flanders  or  in  France.     After  a  long 

Winter  of  heavy  burthens  and  loud  war, 

I  will  forget,  as  I  do  now,  all  things 

Except  the  perfect  beauty  of  the  earth. 

Strangely  familiar,  I  will  hear  a  song. 

As  I  do  now,  above  tlie  battle  roar, 

That  will  set  free  my  pent  imaginings 

And  quiet  all  surprise. 

My  body  will  seem  lighter  than  the  air. 

Easier  to  sway  than  a  green  stalk  of  com; 

Heaven  shall  bend  above  me  in  its  mirth 

With  flutter  of  blue  wings; 

And  singing,  singing,  as  to-day  it  sings, 

The  earth  will  call  to  me,  will  call  and  rise 

And  take  me  to  its  bosom  there  to  bear 

My  mortal-feeble  being  to  new  birth 

Upon  a  world,  this  world,  like  me  reborn. 


160     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Where  I  shall  be 

Alive  again  and  young  again  and  glad  and  free. 

One!  two,  three,  four! 
One!  two,  three,  four! 
One,  two,  three!  .  .  . 

All  the  world  about  me  seems 
The  fulfilment  of  my  dreams. 


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160  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Where  I  shall  be 

Alive  again  and  young  again  and  glad  and  free. 

One!  two,  three,  four! 
One!  two,  three,  four! 
One,  two,  throt 

All  the        •  J 

The  fuiiiijutiji  v.ii  iuv  xii   n  •'< 


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PORTUGAL— DE  MENDONCA  161 

THE  PEOPLE'S  STRUGGLE 

"Let  no  jree  country  be  alien  to  the  freedom  of  another  country." 

"T)ORTUGAL  is  going  solemnly  to  affirm  on  the  field  of  battle 
A  her  adhesion  to  this  precept,  though  uttered  by  German 
lips.  In  defense  of  it,  Portuguese  will  fight  side  by  side  with 
Englishmen,  as  they  fought  with  them  at  Aljubarrota,  side  by  side 
with  Frenchmen,  who  fought  with  them  at  Montes  Claros.  Were 
it  necessary  to  appeal  to  a  motive  less  disinterested  than  the  noble 
ideal  proclaimed  by  Schiller,  we  have  this:  the  payment  of  an 
ancient  debt  to  which  our  honor  binds  us.  Let  us  go  forward  to 
defend  territories  of  those  who  defended  ours,  let  us  maintain  tiie 
independence  of  nations  who  contributed  to  the  salvation  of  our 
own  independence. 

"But  the  objective  is  a  higher  one,  I  repeat.  This  has  been  made 
quite  clear  within  the  last  few  months,  through  the  revolution  in 
Russia,  the  participation  of  the  United  States,  and  the  solidarity, 
more  or  less  effective,  of  all  the  democracies.  It  is  the  people's 
struggle  for  right,  for  liberty,  for  civilization  against  the  dark 
forces  of  despotism  and  barbarism.  Portugal  would  betray  her 
historic  mission  were  she  now  to  fold  her  arms,  the  arms  which 
discovered  worlds.  When  the  earth  was  given  to  man,  it  was  not 
that  it  should  be  peopled  by  slaves.  The  sails  of  Portuguese  ships 
surrounded  the  globe  like  a  diadem  of  stars,  not  as  a  collar  of 
darkness  to  strangle  it." 

Henrique  Lopes  De  Mendonca 

of  the  Academy  of  Science  of  Lisbon,  speaking  at  Lisbon  in  May,  1917. 
Translation  by  L.  E.  Elliott. 


162  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

PORTUGAL 

Lisbon,  18th  August,  1917 

I  HAVE  received  your  letter  of  August  2nd,  in  which  you  ask 
me,  as  representing  Portugal,  to  send  a  message  to  the  Ameri- 
can people  to  be  printed  in  the  book  "Defenders  of  Democracy,"  and 
state  that  a  distinguished  Portuguese  official  has  been  good  enough 
to  mention  my  name  to  you  as  that  of  "an  authoritative  writer  on 
Portuguese  affairs." 

I  am  sensible  of  the  honor  done  me,  but  not  being  a  citizen  of 
Portugal,  I  dare  not  presume  to  speak  for  that  country. 

A  foreigner  however,  with  friends  in  both  the  camps  in  which 
Portuguese  society  is  divided,  may  perhaps  be  able  to  state  some 
facts  imknown  to  the  American  public  and  of  interest  at  the  present 
time. 

And  first  let  me  remark  that  the  entry  of  America  into  the  war, 
which  is  a  pledge  of  victory  for  the  Allies,  has  been  a  surprise  and 
a  relief  to  the  Portuguese,  who  are  by  nature  pessimists.  We 
Anglo-Saxons  are  considered  to  be  mainly  guided  in  our  conduct 
by  material  considerations — did  not  Napoleon  call  the  English  "a 
nation  of  shopkeepers"? — and  the  saying  "Time  is  money"  is 
frequently  quoted  against  us;  hence  hardly  any  Portuguese  imag- 
ined that  America  would  abandon  the  neutrality  which  seemed 
commercially  profitable,  and  even  after  the  decision  had  been 
taken,  few  thought  that  the  United  States  were  capable  of  raising  a 
large  army  and  of  transporting  it  overseas. 

Now  that  America  and  Portugal  are  fighting  side  by  side,  in 
a  common  cause,  it  is  well  that  they  should  understand  one  another. 
For  all  their  differences  of  race,  religion  and  language,  their  ideas 


PORTUGAL— PRESTAGE  163 

are  similar.  The  Portuguese  being  kindly,  easy-going  folk,  hate 
militarism  and  the  reign  of  brute  force  which  is  identified  with 
German  "Kultur."  As  they  prize  their  independence  and  know 
their  weakness,  both  inclination  and  necessity  lead  them  to  the 
side  of  the  powers  who  may  be  supposed  to  favor  the  continuance 
of  their  separate  existence  and  the  retention  by  them  of  their  col- 
onies; as  they  have  a  keen  sense  of  justice,  and  respect  their  engage- 
ments, they  feel  and  have  shown  their  sympathy  with  violated  and 
outraged  Belgium  and  with  the  other  victims  of  German  aggression. 
Why  then,  it  may  be  asked,  did  they  not  support  whole-heartedly 
the  Government  of  the  Republic  when  it  determined  to  take  part 
in  the  war?     The  answer  is  simple. 

They  felt  that  their  first  duty  was  to  protect  their  colonies,  threat- 
ened by  the  enemy,  and  that  in  a  war  where  the  combatants  are 
counted  by  millions,  the  small  contingent  that  Portugal  could 
furnish  would  be  of  little  weight  on  the  battlefields  of  Europe. 
Unless  treaty  obligations  and  considerations  of  honor  forced  them 
to  be  belligerents,  they  considered  that  as  Portugal  was  poor  and 
had  relatively  to  population  almost  the  heaviest  public  debt  of  any 
European  Country,  they  ought  to  remain  neutral — that  this  view 
was  mistaken  is  daily  becoming  clearer  to  them,  thanks  in  part  to 
the  propaganda  of  the  Catholic  paper  Ordem  and  the  official  Mon- 
archist journal  Diario  Nacional,  which  have  insisted  as  strongly 
as  the  Republican  press  on  the  necessity  of  Portuguese  participa- 
tion in  the  war,  in  accord  with  her  ancient  traditions.  He  who 
risks  nothing,  gains  nothing.  By  her  present  heavy  sacrifices  for 
a  great  ideal,  Portugal  wins  a  fresh  title  to  universal  consideration, 
and  by  helping  to  vanquish  Germany  she  defends  her  oversea 
patrimony,  which  the  Germans  proposed  to  annex. 

I  have  said  that  the  ideas  of  the  United  States  and  Portugal  are 
similar.     But  the  pressing  needs  of  Portugal  are  a  competent  ad- 


164     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ministration,  public  order  and  social  discipline,  which  Germany 
possesses  to  a  remarkable  degree,  and  admiration  of  these  has  laid 
Portuguese  Conservatives  open  to  the  charge  of  being  pro-German. 
Many  of  them  judge  from  experience  that  the  desiderata  I  refer  to 
cannot  be  secured  in  a  democracy,  while  a  few  of  them  have  gone 
so  far  as  to  desire  a  German  triumph,  because  they  foolishly 
thought  that  the  Kaiser  would  restore  the  monarchy.  None  of 
them,  I  think,  sympathize  with  German  methods ;  but  they  have  suf- 
fered from  a  century  of  revolutions,  dating  from  1820,  and  attrib- 
ute these  disasters  to  the  anti-Christian  ideas  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. In  America  that  great  movement  had  beneficent  results,  as 
I  understand,  which  only  shows  that  one  man's  drink  is  another's 
poison. 

Divergent  ideals  and  other  considerations  led  Portuguese  Con- 
servatives to  throw  their  influence  into  the  scale  in  favor  of  neu- 
trality, but  now  that  their  country  is  at  war,  they  have  accepted 
the  fact  and  can  be  trusted  to  do  their  duty.  At  the  front  political 
and  other  differences  are  forgotten  and  the  soldiers,  whatever  their 
creed,  are  honoring  the  warlike  traditions  of  their  race  and  remind- 
ing us  of  the  days  when  Wellington  spoke  of  Portuguese  troops  as 
the  "fighting-cocks"  of  his  army. 

By  organizing  with  great  eff"orts  and  sending  a  properly  trained 
and  equipped  expeditionary  force  to  France,  the  Government  of 
the  Republic  has  deserved  well  of  the  country  and  the  Allies,  and 
I  believe  that  it  has  unconsciously  been  the  agent  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence. The  men,  when  they  return  will  bring  with  them  a  firmer 
religious  faith,  the  foundation  of  national  well-being,  and  a  higher 
standard  of  conduct  than  prevails  here  at  present;  they  may  well 
prove  the  regenerators  of  a  land  which  all  who  know  it  learn  to 
love,  a  land,  the  past  achievements  of  whose  sons  in  the  cause  of 
Christianity  and  civilization  are  inscribed  on  the  ample  page  of 


PORTUGAL— PRESTAGE  165 

history.  Portugal  which  produced  so  many  saints  and  heroes, 
which  founded  the  sea  road  to  India  and  discovered  and  colonized 
Brazil,  cannot  be  allowed  longer  to  vegetate,  for  this  in  the  case 
of  a  country  means  to  die. 


166  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 

ROUMANIA 

AN    INTERPRETATION 

A  SERBIAN  politician,  conversing  with  a  traveler  from  West- 
em  Europe,  mentioned  the  words  "a  nice  national  balance"; 
and  when  the  other,  bored  to  death  with  the  everlasting  wrangle 
of  the  turbulent  Balkans,  tried  to  lead  the  conversation  to  Shake- 
speare and  the  Musical  Glasses,  away  from  Macedonia  and  Albania 
and  komitadjis  and  Kotzo-Vlachs,  the  Serbian  remarked  with  a 
laugh  that  the  nice  national  balance  of  which  he  was  speaking  was 
not  political,  but  economic  and  social. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "we  Serbians  are  bom  peasants,  bom  agri- 
culturists, men  of  the  glebe  and  the  plow.  The  Roumanian,  on  tlie 
other  hand,  is  a  bom  financier.  Gold  comes  to  his  hand  like 
fish  to  bait.  He  comes  to  Serbia  to  make  money — and  he  makes 
it." 

"But,"  said  the  Western  European,  "isn't  that  rather  hard  on  the 
Serbian?" 

"No!  Not  a  bit!  For  it  is  the  young  Serbian  who  marries  the 
Roumanian's  daughter,  and  the  young  Serbian  girl  who  marries 
the  Roumanian's  son.  Thus  the  Serbian  money,  earned  by  the 
Roumanian,  is  still  kept  in  the  coimtry.  You  know,"  he  added 
musingly,  "the  Roumanians  are  a  singularly  handsome,  a  singu- 
larly engaging  people.     I  myself  married  a  Roumanian." 

"A  rich  Roumanian's  daughter,  I  suppose?" 

"Heavens,  no!      A  poor  girl." 

And  he  added  with  superb  lack  of  logic: 

"Who  wouldn't  marry  a  Roumanian — be  she  rich — or  poor!" 

Who  wouldn't  marry  a  Roumanian? 


ROUMANIA— ABDULLAH  167 

The  secret  of  the  Balkans  is  contained  in  that  simple  rhetoric 

question. 

For,  clear  away  from  the  days  when  the  Slavs  made  their  first 
appearance  in  Soutliem  Europe  and,  crossing  the  Danube,  came  to 
settle  on  the  great,  green,  rolling  plain  between  the  river  and  the 
jagged,  frowning  Balkan  Mountains,  then  proceeded  southwards 
and  fomed  colonies  among  the  Thraco-Illyrians,  the  Roumanians, 
and  the  Greeks,  to  the  days  of  Michael  tlie  Brave  who  drove  the 
Turks  to  the  spiked  gates  of  Adrianople  and  freed  half  the  penm- 
sula  for  a  span  of  years;  from  the  days  when  gallant  King  Mirt- 
sched  went  down  to  glorious  defeat  amongst  the  Osmanli  yataghans 
to  the  final  day  when  the  Russian  Slav  liberated  the  Roumanian 
Latin  from  the  Turkish  yoke,  Uie  Roumanian  has  held  high  the 
torch  of  civilization  and  culture. 

Latin  civilization! 

Latin  culture! 

Latin  ideals! 

Straight  through,  he  has  been  the  Western  leaven  in  an  Eastern 

land. 

Geographically,  the  Fates  were  unkind  to  him. 

For  he  stood  in  the  path  of  the  most  gigantic  racial  movements  of 
the  world.  His  land  was  the  scene  of  savage  racial  struggles. 
His  rivers  ran  red  with  the  blood  of  Hun  and  Slav,  of  Greek  and 
Albanian,  of  Osmanli  and  Seljuk.  His  fields  and  pastures  became 
the  dumping-ground  of  residual  shreds  of  a  dozen  and  one  nations 
surviving  from  great  defeats  or  Pyrrhic  victories  and  nursing 
irreconcilable  mutual  racial  hatreds. 

But  the  old  Latin  spirit  proved  stronger  than  Fate,  stronger  than 
numbers,  stronger  than  brute  force.  It  proved  strong  enough  to 
assimilate  the  foreign  barbarians,  instead  of  becoming  assimilated 


168     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

by  them.  It  was  strong  enough  to  wipe  out  every  trace  of  Asian 
and  Slavic  taint.  It  was  strong  enough  to  keep  intact  the  Latin 
idea  against  die  steely  shock  of  Asian  hordes,  the  immense,  crush- 
ing weight  of  Slav  fatalism,  the  subtleties  of  Greek  influence. 

The  Roumanian  is  a  Roman. 

His  cultural  ideal  was,  and  is,  of  the  West,  of  Rome,  of  France 
— and  of  Himself;  and  he  has  kept  it  inviolate  through  military  and 
political  disaster,  through  slavery  itself. 

Roumania  has  remained  a  window  of  Europe  looking  toward 
Asia  as  surely  and  as  steadily  as  Petrograd  was  a  window  of  Asia 
looking  toward  Europe. 

The  Roumanian  is  proud  of  his  Latin  descent;  and  he  shows  his 
ancestry  not  only  in  his  literature,  his  art,  and  his  every  day  life, 
but  also,  perhaps  chiefly,  in  his  government  which  is  practically  a 
safe  and  sane  oligarchy,  modeled  on  that  of  ancient  Florence,  and, 
be  it  said,  fully  as  successful  as  that  of  the  Florentine  Republic. 

Latin,  too,  is  his  diplomacy.  It  is  clean — and  clever.  It  is  the 
big  stick  held  in  a  velvet  glove.  It  is  supremely  able.  He  seeks 
a  great  advantage  with  a  modest  air,  in  contrast  to  the  Greek  who 
seeks  a  modest  advantage  with  a  grandiloquent  air. 

He  seeks  no  reclame,  but  goes  ahead  serenely,  unfalteringly, 
sure  in  his  knowledge  that  he  is  the  torch-bearer  of  ancient  Rome 
in  the  savage  Balkans. 


RUSSIA'S  SI  HUGGLE 

By  0.  E.  Cesare 
From  Ihc  Oriijinal  Carloon 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  169 


THE  SOUL  OF  RUSSIA 


THERE  is  a  strange  saying  in  Russia  that  no  matter  what  hap- 
pens to  a  man,  good  results  to  him  thereby.  No  matter  what 
hair-breadth  escapes  he  has,  what  calamities  he  faces,  what  hard- 
ships he  undergoes,  he  emerges  more  powerful,  more  experienced 
from  the  ordeal.  Danger  and  privation  are  more  beneficial  in  the 
long  run  than  peace  and  joy.  A  nation  of  some  fifty  different 
races  gradually  melting  into  one,  a  country  covering  a  territor>'  of 
one-sixth  of  the  surface  of  the  earth  and  a  population  of  185,- 
000,000,  the  Russians  have  remained  to  the  outside  world  the 
apaches  of  Europe,  wild  tribes  of  the  steppes.  In  the  imagination 
of  an  average  American  or  Englishman,  Russia  was  something 
Asiatic,  something  connected  with  die  barbaric  East,  a  country 
beyond  the  horizon.  It  was  considered  as  lacking  in  culture  and 
civilization,  and  as  a  menace  to  the  West.  "Nichevo,  sudiba!"— 
(It  doesn't  matter,  everything  is  fate)  replies  a  Russian,  crossing 
himself.  The  whole  psychology  of  the  Slavic  race  is  crystallized 
in  these  two  impressionistic  words. 

What  John  Ruskin  said  in  his  famous  historic  essay  applies  to 
Russia:  "I  found  that  all  the  great  nations  learned  their  truth  of 
word  and  strength  of  tliought  in  war."  Every  great  Russian  re- 
form has  taken  place  suddenly  as  a  consequence  of  some  nation- 
wide calamity.  The  Tartar  invasion  united  Russia  into  one  pow- 
erful nation;  the  Crimean  War  abolished  the  feudal  system;  the 
Russo-Turkish  War  gave  the  judicial  reforms  and  abolished  cap- 
ital punishment;  the  Russo-Japanese  War  gave  the  preliminary 
form  of  Constitutional  government  in  the  Duma;  tlie  present  war  is 
opening  the  soul  of  Russia  to  the  world  by  giving  an  absolute  demo- 
cratic form  of  government  to  the  united  Slavic  race.     The  present 


170     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

war  will  reveal  that  Russia  the  known  has  been  the  very  opposite 
extreme  of  Russia  the  unknown. 

The  outside  world  is  wondering  how  the  Russian  character  will 
fit  in  with  the  aspirations  of  democracy.  They  cannot  reconcile 
the  Russia  of  pogroms  and  Siberia  with  the  Russia  of  wonderful 
municipal  theaters,  great  artists,  writers,  musicians  and  lovers  of 
humanity.  The  world  has  known  the  tyrants  like  Plehve,  Trepoff, 
OrloflF  and  Stolypin,  or  others  like  Rasputin,  ProtopopofT  and  for- 
gets that  Russia  has  also  produced  geniuses  like  Dostoyewsky, 
Turgenieff,  Tchaikowsky,  Tolstoy,  Moussorgsky,  Rimsky-Kor- 
sakoff,  MendeleyeflF  and  Metchnikoff.  The  world  has  looked  at 
Russia  as  a  land  of  uncultivated  steppes,  of  frozen  ground,  hungry 
bears  and  desperate  Cossacks,  and  forgets  that  in  actuality  this  is 
the  Russia  of  the  past  very  extreme  surface  and  next  to  it  is  a  Russia 
of  great  civilization  and  the  highest  art,  imknown  yet  to  tlie  West 
generally. 

One  of  the  strangest  peculiarities  of  Russian  life  is  that  you  will 
find  the  greatest  contrasts  everywhere.  Here  you  will  see  the  most 
luxurious  castles,  cathedrals,  convents,  villas  and  estates;  there 
you  will  find  the  most  desolate  huts  of  the  moujiks  and  lonely  her- 
mit caves  in  the  wilds  of  Siberia.  Here  you  will  meet  the  most 
selfish  chinovnik,  the  most  fanatic  desperado  or  reckless  bureau- 
crat; there  you  face  the  noblest  men  and  women,  supermen,  physi- 
cally and  mentally.  You  will  find  that  all  Russian  life  is  full  of 
such  mental  and  physical  contrasts. 

This  is  the  dualism  that  confronts  like  a  sphinx  the  foreigners. 
In  the  same  way  you  will  find  that  the  Russian  homes  are  full  of 
contrasting  colors,  bright  red  and  yellow,  white  and  blue.  Tlie 
Russian  music  is  the  most  dramatic  phentic  art  ever  created;  it 
reaches  the  deepest  sorrow  and  the  gayest  hilarity   and   joy. 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  171 

Dreamy,  romantic,  imaginary,  simple,  hospitable  and  childlike  as 
an  average  moujik,  is  the  soul  of  the  people.  Nowhere  is  there 
a  hint  of  those  qualities  which  are  thrown  up  as  dark  shadows  on 
the  canvas  of  his  horizon.  While  with  one  hand  Russia  has  been 
conquering  the  world,  with  the  other  she  has  been  creatmg  tlie  most 
magnificent  masterpieces  of  humanity.  In  the  same  generation  sae 
produces  a  Plehve  and  a  Tolstoy,  both  in  a  way,  true  to  national 

type.  . 

In  the  popular  American  imagination,  which  invariably  seizes 
upon  a  single  point,  three  things  stand  out  as  representative  of 
Russia:  the  moujiks,  the  Cossacks  and  the  Siberian  penal  system. 
The  vast  unknown  spaces  between  these  three  have  been  filled  m 
with  the  dark  colors  of  poverty  and  oppression,  so  that  a  Russian  is 
looked  upon  as  an  outcast  of  evolution,  an  exile  of  the  ages. 

The  Russia  of  the  dark  powers  is  past;  thus  soon  will  pass  the 
Russian  chinovnik,  the  Russian  spy  and  the  Russian  gloom,  who 
have  been  a  shadow  of  the  Slavic  race.     From  now  all  the  world 
will  listen  to  the  majestic  masterpieces  of  the  Russian  composers 
see  the  infinite  beauty  of  the  Russian  life  and  feel  the  greatness  of 
the  Russian  soul.     Not  only  has  Russia  her  peculiar  racial  civili- 
zation, her  unique  art  and  literature,  and  national  traditions,  but 
she  has  riches  of  which  the  outside  world  knows  little,  riches  that 
are  still  buried.     The  Russian  stage,  art  galleries,  archives,  monas- 
tery  treasuries  and  romantic  traits  of  life  remain  still  a  sealed 
book  to  the  outsiders.     Take  for  instance,  Russian  music,  the 
operas  of  Rimsky-Korsakoff,  the  plays  of  Ostrowsky  and  the  sym- 
phonies  of  Reinhold  Gliere  or  Spendiarov   and  you  will  have 
eloquent  chapters  of  a  modem  living  Bible.     No  music  of  another 
country  is  such  a  true  mirror  of  a  nation's  racial  character,  life, 
passion,  blood,  struggle,  despair  and  agony,  as  Uie  Russian.     One 


172     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

can  almost  see  in  its  turbulent-lugiibrious  or  buoyant-hilarious 
chords  the  rich  colors  of  the  Byzantine  style,  the  half  Oriental  at- 
mosphere that  surrounds  everything  with  a  romantic  halo. 

The  fundamental  purpose  of  the  patlifinders  of  Russian  art, 
music,  literature  and  poetry  was  to  create  beauties  that  emanated, 
not  from  a  certain  class  or  school,  but  directly  from  the  soul  of  the 
people.  Their  ideal  was  to  create  life  from  life.  Though  pro- 
found melancholy  seems  to  be  the  dominant  note  in  Russian  music 
and  art,  yet  along  with  the  dramatic  gloom  go  also  reckless  hilarity 
and  boisterous  humor,  which  often  whirl  one  off  one's  feet.  This 
is  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  average  Russian  is  extremely  emo- 
tional and  consequently  dramatic  in  his  artistic  expressions.  Late 
Leo  Tolstoy  said  to  me  on  one  occasion:  "In  our  folksong  and 
folk  art  is  evidently  yearning  without  end,  without  hope,  also  power 
invisible,  the  fateful  stamp  of  destiny,  and  the  fate  in  preordina- 
tion, one  of  the  fundamental  principles  of  our  race,  which  explains 
much  that  in  Russian  life  seems  incomprehensible  for  the  for- 
eigners." 

Thus  the  Russian  art  and  soul  in  their  very  foundations  are 
already  democratic,  simple,  direct  and  true  to  the  ethnographic 
traits  of  the  race.  In  the  same  way  you  will  find  the  Russian  home 
life,  the  peasant  commmiities,  the  zemstvo  institutions,  offsprings 
of  an  extremely  democratic  tendency,  perhaps  far  more  than  any 
such  institutions  of  the  West.  Instead  of  die  rich  or  noblemen  ab- 
sorbing the  land  of  the  peasants,  we  find  in  Russia  the  peasant 
commune  succeeding  to  the  property  of  the  baron.  An  average 
Russian  peasant  is  by  far  more  democratic  and  educated,  irrespec- 
tive of  his  illiteracy  than  an  average  farmer  of  the  New  World. 
He  has  the  culture  of  the  ages  in  his  traditions,  religion  and 
national  folk-arts.  Russia  has  more  than  a  diousand  municipal 
tlieaters,  more  than  a  hundred  grand  operas,  more  than  a  hundred 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  173 

colleges  and  universities  or  musical  conservatories.  Russia  has 
a  well-organized  system  of  cooperative  banks  and  stores  and  a 
marvelous  artelsystem  of  the  working  professional  classes  which 
in  its  democratic  principles  surpasses  by  far  the  labor  imion 
systems  of  the  West.  Herr  von  Bruggen,  the  eminent  German 
historian  writes  of  the  Russian  tendency  as  follows:  "Wherever 
the  Russian  finds  a  native  population  in  a  low  state  of  civilization, 
he  knows  how  to  settle  down  with  it  without  driving  it  out  or  crush- 
ing it;  he  is  hailed  by  the  natives  as  the  bringer  of  order,  as  a 
civilizing  power." 

I  have  always  preached  and  continue  to  do  so  in  the  future, 
that  Russia  and  the  United  States  should  join  hands,  know  and 
love  each  other,  the  sooner  the  better.  Russia  needs  the  active 
spirit,  the  practical  grasp  of  the  things,  which  the  people  of  the 
United  States  possess.  Nothing  will  help  and  inspire  an  average 
Russian  more  than  the  sincere  democratic  hand  of  an  American. 
A  dose  of  American  optimism  and  active  spirit  is  tlie  best  toxin  for 
free  Russia.  On  the  other  hand,  the  American  needs  just  as  much 
Russian  emotionalism,  aesthetic  culture  and  mystic  romanticism, 
as  he  can  give  of  his  racial  qualities. 

The  old  system  having  gone,  Russia  is  free  to  open  her  national, 
spiritual  and  physical  treasuries.  For  some  time  to  come  neither 
Germany  nor  other  European  countries,  will  be  able  to  go  to  Russia, 
for  even  if  die  war  does  not  last  long,  its  havoc  will  take  years  to 
repair.  Endless  readjustments  will  have  to  take  place  in  each 
country  affected  by  the  war.  Russia,  being  more  an  agricultural, 
intellectual-aristocratic  country,  will  feel  least  of  all  the  after 
effects  the  past  horrors,  therefore  has  the  greatest  potentialities. 
There  is  not  only  a  great  work,  adventure  and  romance  that  waits 
an  American  pioneer  in  Russia,  but  a  great  mission  which  will 
ultimately  benefit  both  nations.     It  should  be  understood  tliat  tlie 


174  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Russian  democracy  will  not  be  based  upon  the  economic-industrial, 
but  aesthetic-intellectual  principles  of  life.  It  is  not  tlie  money, 
the  financial  power  that  will  play  the  dominant  role  in  free  Russia, 
but  the  ideal,  the  dramatic,  the  romantic  or  mystic  tendency. 
Money  will  never  have  that  meaning  in  Russia  which  it  has  in  the 
West.  It  will  be  the  individual,  the  emotional,  the  great  symbol 
of  the  mystic  beyond,  that  will  speak  from  future  democratic 
Russia  only  in  a  different  and  more  dynamic  form,  as  it  has  been 
speaking  in  the  past. 

As  Lincoln  is  the  living  voice  of  the  American  people,  thus 
Tolstoy  is  and  remains  the  glorified  Russian  peasant  uttering  his 
heart  to  the  world.  The  voice  of  this  man  alone  is  sufficient  to 
tell  the  outside  world  that  the  Russian  democracy  is  a  creation  not 
of  form  and  economics  but  of  spirit  and  aesthetics. 


yf^StX.,©**!.     K/V^ 


Author  of  "Echoes  of  Mysetj,"  ''The  Dance,"  "The  Art  of  Music,"  X  Volume,  etc. 


p 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  175 


THE  AMERICAN  BRIDE 

ETKA  had  been  for  years  a  village  tailor  but  he  had  never  been 
..  able  to  save  enough  money  to  open  a  grocery-store.  He  hated 
ais  profession  and  hated  to  think  that  he  could  never  get  anything 
higher  in  the  social  rank  of  the  place  than  what  he  was.  Whde 
the  name  of  a  tailor  sounded  to  him  so  cheap,  that  of  a  merchant 
flattered  his  ambition  immensely.  But  there  was  no  chance  to  earn 
tlie  five  hundred  rubles,  which,  he  thought,  was  necessary  to  change 

the  profession. 

"If  I  marry  a  poor  peasant  girl  like  Tina  or  Vera,  111  never 
get  anywhere,"  soliloquized  Petka  and  made  plans  for  his  future. 

Petka  knew  a  girl  with  two  hundred  ruble-dowry,  but  she  was 
awfully  homely  and  deaf;  and  he  knew  a  widow  with  three  hundred 
rubles,  but  she  was  twenty  years  older  dian  himself.     It  was  a 

critical  situation. 

One  day  Petka  heard  that  the  daughter  of  an  old  pedler  had  a 
dowry  of  five  hundred  rubles,  exactly  the  amount  he  needed. 
After  careful  planning  of  the  undertaking  he  hired  a  horse  and 
drove  to  the  lonely  cottage  of  the  rag  pedler  to  whom  he  explamed 
as  clearly  as  he  could,  the  purpose  of  his  visit. 

"My  Liza  ain't  at  home,"  the  old  man  replied.  "She  is  m  that 
distant  country  called  America.  Good  Lord,  Liza  is  a  lady  of 
some  distinction.  If  you  should  see  her  on  the  street  you  would 
never  take  her  for  my  daughter.  She  wears  patent-leather  shoes, 
kid-gloves,  corsets  and  such  finery.  Why,  I  suppose  she  has  a 
proposal  for  her  every  finger,  if  not  more.     She  is  some  girl,  I 

tell  you." 

Petka  listened  with  throbbing  heart  to  the  UiriUing  story  of  the 

old  man,  scratched  his  head  and  said: 


176  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"I  suppose  she  is  employed  in  some  high  class  establishment  or 
something  like  that?" 

"Of  course,  she  is,"  grunted  the  pedler  proudly.  "She  might  be 
employed  or  she  might  not.  She  has  written  to  me  that  she  is  a 
lady  all  right." 

"What  is  her  special  occupation?" 

"She  is  employed  as  the  waitress  in  a  lunch-room  on  the  so  called 
Second  Avenue  comer  in  New  York.  And  her  salary  reaches 
often  thirty  dollars  a  month,  which  represents  a  value  in  our  money 
of  something  over  sixty  rubles.  Now  that  is  not  a  joke.  She  has 
all  the  food  and  lodging  free.     Wliy,  it's  a  real  gold-mine." 

"Has  she  saved  already  much?" 

"She  has  five  hundred  dollars  in  the  savings  bank,  and  she  has 
all  the  hats  and  shoes,  and  gloves  and  such  stuff  that  would  make 
our  women  faint.     So  you  see  she  is  the  real  thing." 

The  happy  father  puUed  the  daughter's  letter  from  the  bottom  of 
his  bed  and  reached  it  over  to  the  visitor,  Petka  read  and  reread 
the  letter  with  breathless  curiosity.  In  the  letter  which  was  also  a 
small  snap-shot  picture  of  the  girl.  Petka  looked  at  the  picture 
and  did  not  know  what  to  say.  To  judge  from  her  photograph,  she 
was  a  frail  spinster,  with  high  cheekbones,  a  long  neck  and  a  nose 
like  a  frozen  potato.  But  the  trimming  of  her  hair,  her  city  hat 
with  flowers,  and  her  wliole  American  bearing  made  her  interesting 
enough  to  tlie  ambitious  tailor.  For  a  long  time  he  was  gazing  at 
the  picture  and  thinking. 

"Do  you  tliink  that  Liza  would  like  to  marry  a  man  like  me?  I 
am  a  well  known  tailor.  But  I  have  now  a  chance  to  become  a 
merchant  in  our  village.  I  need  some  money  to  make  up  the 
difference,  and  why  not  try  the  luck?  Liza  might  be  a  well  known 
waitress  in  New  York,  but  to  be  a  merchant's  wife  is  a  different 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  177 

thing.  Don't  you  think  she  might  consider  my  proposal 
seriously?" 

The  old  pedler  puffed  at  his  pipe,  walked  to  the  window  and 
back  as  if  measuring  the  matter  most  seriously. 

"It  all  depends — you  know  Liza  is  a  queer  girl — it  all  depends 
how  you  strike  her  with  a  strong  letter.  You  could  not  go  to  New 
York  and  make  the  proposal  personally.  It  has  to  be  done  by 
mail.  It  all  depends  how  well  the  letter  is  written,  how  everything 
is  explained  and  how  the  idea  of  being  a  merchant's  wife  strikes  her. 
She  is  a  queer  girl,  like  all  the  American  women  are." 

"Can  your  Liza  read  and  write  letters?" 

"Of  course,  she  can.  Liza  is  a  lady  of  some  standing.  She 
can  write  and  read  like  our  priest.     She  is  a  highly  educated  girl." 

"So  you  think  a  strong  letter  will  fix  her  up?" 

"Exactly.     And  tell  her  everything  you  plan  to  do." 

Petka  took  Liza's  address,  drank  a  glass  of  vodka  to  the  success 
of  the  plan  and  left  the  old  pedler  still  harping  on  his  daughter. 
All  the  way  home  and  many  days  afterwards  Petka  could  think  of 
notliing  else.  It  seemed  to  him  the  greatest  opportunity  in  the 
world  to  marry  a  girl  from  America.  But  now  and  then  he  got 
skeptical  of  his  ability  to  get  such  a  prize.  However,  he  decided  to 
try.  He  admitted  that  the  whole  success  lay  in  die  shaping  of  a 
strong  and  convincing  letter  and  sending  it  to  her  properly.  Petka 
knew  how  to  write  letters,  but  the  question  was  would  his  style  be 
impressive  enough  to  influence  a  girl  in  America  to  come  to  Russia 
and  marry  a  man  whom  she  had  never  seen?  However,  Petka 
knew  Platon,  the  village  saloon-keeper,  as  the  most  gifted  man  for 
that  purpose.  But  in  a  case  like  this  he  hated  to  take  anybody 
into  his  confidence. 

After  arriving  home  Petka  began  to  practise,  writing  a  love- 


178     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

letter  every  day.  But  nothing  came  of  it.  One  letter  was  too  mild, 
die  other  too  extravagant.  Finally  he  gave  it  up,  and  whispered 
his  secret  to  the  inn-keeper,  saying: 

"Now,  old  man,  do  me  die  great  favor  and  I'll  fix  you  up  when 
I  get  her  dowry.  I  want  the  letter  to  be  strong  and  tender  at  the 
same  time." 

The  inn-keeper  consented.  But  Petka  had  to  tell  all  the  details 
and  specifications.  Even  Platon  admitted  that  it  required  some 
skill  to  write  the  letter.  When  he  had  thought  the  matter  over 
carefully,  made  some  notes  and  discussed  the  subject  with  Petka 
from  every  angle,  he  took  a  long  sheet  of  paper,  glued  a  rose  in  the 
comer  and  wrote  as  follows: 

"Highly  respected  Mademoiselle  Liza: —  You  have  never  been 
in  our  village,  but  it  is  a  peach.  I  am  the  cream  of  the  place.  I 
have  here  all  the  girls  I  need.  I  have  a  house  and  my  business. 
But  the  point  is  I  want  to  open  a  store  and  need  a  wife  with  ex- 
perience. We  have  all  the  money.  But  I  need  some  capital  to 
begin.  As  you  have  all  that  and  besides,  I  have  fallen  in  love 
with  you,  I  lay  the  offer  before  your  tender  feet.  Your  beautiful 
image  has  haunted  me  day  and  night,  and  your  wonderful  eyes 
follow  me  in  my  dreams,  oh,  you  lovely  rose!  If  you  are  ready 
to  marry  a  merchant  like  myself,  do  not  waste  any  time,  but  come 
over  and  let's  have  a  marriage  ceremony  as  the  world  has  never 
seen  here.  However,  before  you  do  come,  send  me  an  early  reply 
with  a  rosy  yes.  Most  affectionately  and  respectfully,  Petka 
Petroff"." 

"It's  bully,  it's  superb,"  praised  the  tailor.  "But  it  lacks  the 
tender  touch.     It  lacks  that  style  which  the  city  women  like." 

"I  put  in  the  punch,  but  you  can  add  a  love  poem  from  some 
school-book  if  you  like,"  protested  the  inn-keeper.  "The  city  girls 
are  funny  creatures.     Sometimes  they  like  the  finger,  other  times 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  179 

the  fist.  Who  knows  the  taste  of  your  Liza!  The  waitresses  of 
big  cities  are  usually  broad-minded  and  highly  educated." 

After  the  poem  was  added  and  another  rose  glued  on  the  comer 
of  tlie  letter,  it  was  mailed,  registered,  with  a  note  "highly  urgent," 
and  Petka  breathed  freely,  like  one  who  had  survived  a  great 
ordeal. 

Two  months  of  heavy  waiting  passed  and  still  no  reply  from 
Liza.  Petka  was  like  one  on  thorns.  His  strange  romance  was 
already  known  to  his  neighbors  and  now  everybody  was  expecting 
the  letter  from  America  to  furnish  the  most  sensational  news  in  all 
the  world. 

One  afternoon  as  the  tailor  was  sewing  a  pair  of  trousers  the  al- 
derman of  tlie  village  brought  him  a  registered  letter  from  America. 
Nearly  half  of  the  village  population  had  gathered  outside,  curious 
to  hear  the  content  of  the  letter.  Petka  took  tremblingly  and 
greatly  excited  the  letter  and  rushed  to  Platon,  the  inn-keeper,  all 
the  time  followed  by  the  crowd.  All  the  audience  gathered  in  the 
inn  and  Platon  was  instructed  to  read  it  aloud  to  the  gathering.  As 
it  was  a  ceremonial  event  of  rare  occasion,  the  inn-keeper  stood  up, 
and  began  in  a  solemn  voice: 

"My  dear  Petka:  I  am  most  happy  to  reply  to  your  valued  let- 
ter of  the  fifteenth  of  July,  that  I  am  glad  to  accept  your  proposal. 
But  everything  must  be  all  right.  I  can  marry  only  a  man  of  the 
merchant  class.  I  know  the  business  and  I  can  supply  you  with 
the  capital  you  need.  But  you  must  remember  that  I  do  not  like 
to  be  fooled  and  marry  a  man  beneath  me.  No  peasant  or  tailor 
for  me.  I  stand  here  very  high  and  cannot  ruin  my  name.  You 
have  not  told  me  your  age,  but  I  suppose  you  are  not  an  old  fogey. 
I  will  follow  this  letter  next  month,  so  you  fix  the  wedding  cere- 
mony, secure  all  the  musicians  and  manage  the  meals,  drinks  and 
such  necessities.     If  this  is  not  agreeable  cable  me.     Your  Liza." 


180  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

While  Platon  was  reading  the  letter  Petka  gazed  dreamily  out  of 
the  window  and  built,  not  an  air  castle,  but  a  large  grocery  store, 
with  showy  windows.  It  seemed  as  if  he  saw  his  store  already 
opened,  tlie  people  going  and  coming,  the  shelves  filled  with 
cans  and  packages.  The  sign  "Merchant  Petka"  hung  in  his 
eyes. 

The  letter  was  like  a  bomb  in  the  idyllic  village.  Plans  were 
made  of  the  wedding  date  and  elaborate  ceremony.  The  village 
Luga  had  never  witnessed  yet  a  marriage  ceremony  of  this  magni- 
tude. The  American  bride  was  like  a  fairy  princess  of  some 
ancient  times.  Petka  was  like  one  in  a  trance.  But  Vasska,  the 
blacksmith,  opposed  to  the  idea  of  such  a  strange  marriage, 
pounded  his  hand  against  the  bar,  exclaiming: 

"Liza  may  be  all  right,  but  Petka  should  not  marry  her.  What 
do  we  know  about  an  American  woman?  What  do  we  know  about 
her  habits?  I've  been  told  funny  stories  about  such  strange 
women.  I've  heard  that  nearly  every  American  woman  paints  her 
cheeks,  dyes  her  hair,  wears  false  teeth,  puts  up  bluffs  and  does 
everything  to  deceive  a  man.  Spit  at  her  capital.  Besides,  this 
American  Liza  is  a  woman  whom  nobody  here  knows." 

The  blacksmith's  arguments  were  taken  seriously  by  the  others 
and  a  gloom  came  over  the  gathered  gossips.  But  the  inn-keeper, 
who  was  always  optimistic,  replied : 

"American  Liza  must  be  a  refined  girl,  and  she  has  the  money. 
That's  what  Petka  wants,  and  that's  what  he  will  get.  So  we 
better  let  the  wedding  take  place  and  see  what  will  happen.  I've 
heard  that  an  American  woman  looks  at  the  marriage  as  a  business 
proposition,  so  we  let  her  do  what  she  pleases." 

"Business  or  no  business,  but  we  take  the  marriage  seriously. 
If  a  man  makes  up  his  mind  that  he  likes  a  woman,  he  must  marry 
her,  and  once  he  has  married  her,  no  ax  or  pike  shall  separate 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  181 

them.  No  monkeying  with  married  men  or  women  tliereafter," 
argued  the  serious  blacksmith. 

Petka  turned  tlie  conversation  to  the  subject  of  the  wedding  meals 
and  music.  The  whole  program  of  the  ceremony  was  analyzed 
and  discussed  in  detail,  some  maintaining  that  the  American  custom 
was  to  eat  with  forks  and  knives  from  the  plates,  others  that  only 
uncooked  meat  was  eaten  and  frogs  served  as  delicacies.  Finally 
the  entertainment  was  arranged  and  the  blacksmith  remarked: 

"All  city  women  like  fun  and  don't  care  about  serious  affairs. 
They  have  the  theaters  and  operas  for  amusements,  so  we  better 
get  a  real  amusement  for  American  Liza.  The  best  fun  would  be  a 
huge  hurdy-gurdy  or  something  of  that  kind,  an  instrument  with 
sensation.  Our  village  violins  and  harps  are  too  mild  for  women 
like  that  Liza." 

After  discussing  the  matter  at  length,  the  inn-keeper  agreed  to 
take  care  of  the  entertainment.  A  short  cable  was  composed  and 
sent  to  Liza  and  the  wedding  date  clearly  explained.  All  the 
village  got  alive  with  the  news  that  Petka  was  to  marry  an  Ameri- 
can girl  by  mail. 

The  three  weeks  of  preparation  for  the  wedding  festival  passed 
like  a  dream.  The  Sunday,  that  was  to  be  the  final  date,  began 
bright  and  cheerful.  Petka  was  hustling  to  and  fro  in  his  newly 
rented  house,  the  front  of  which  was  to  be  arranged  for  the  grocery 
store,  strutted  like  a  big  rooster  preparing  the  affairs  of  his  flock. 
At  the  entrance  of  the  house  was  hung  a  big  flag.  Long  tables  were 
arranged  in  all  the  rooms,  covered  with  meats,  drinks  and  delica- 
cies, all  prepared  in  the  village.  Women  were  still  busy  baking 
other  foods,  frying  meats  and  boiling  water  for  tea  or  drinks. 
Everybody  was  busy  and  everything  looked  most  solemn  and  im- 
pressive. The  host  was  dressed  in  a  picturesque  new  suit  of 
clothes  with  a  silk  scarf  around  his  neck. 


182     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

While  the  groom  was  busy  with  preparing  his  heart  for  joy,  the 
inn-keeper  was  solving  tlie  problem  of  the  entertainment.  He 
had  constructed,  what  he  thought  to  be  distinctly  American,  a  huge 
music-box,  which  was  to  produce  the  most  wonderful  tones  ever 
heard.  This  instrument  had  the  appearance  of  a  big  wine-cask 
and  yet  a  street-organ  at  the  same  time,  and  was  an  invention  of 
the  ingenious  inn-keeper.  It  was  practically  a  barrel,  covered 
with  illustrations  of  old  Sunday  newspapers  and  county-fair 
posters.  To  its  side  was  fastened  an  improvised  lever,  made  from 
a  broken  cart-wheel.  Under  this  barrel,  concealed  so  that  no  one 
could  see  within,  were  placed  three  most  prominent  musicians  of 
the  village,  Ivan  with  his  violin.  Semen  with  his  concertina  and 
Nicholas  with  his  drum.  As  soon  as  the  conductor  outside  pulled 
a  string,  the  lever  began  to  turn  around  and  the  musicians  in  the 
barrel  had  to  start  to  play.  In  the  comer  of  the  house  this  strange 
instrument  looked  like  a  mysterious  engine,  one  knew  not  whether 
to  expect  it  to  develop  into  a  flying  or  moving  picture  machine. 

At  last  everything  was  ready.  The  guests  began  to  arrive  and 
the  carriage  was  sent  to  the  town  to  bring  the  bride.  Everybody 
was  in  festival  attire  and  all  tuned  to  expect  the  utmost  excitements 
the  village  had  ever  had.  One  could  see  the  people  in  groups  of 
three  or  four,  discussing  in  a  high  pitch  of  voice  the  wonders  of 
the  wedding  festival  or  venturing  various  guesses  about  the  Ameri- 
can bride.  The  village  girls,  who  were  not  a  little  jealous,  nudged 
each  other  and  exchanged  meaning  glances,  that  Petka  was  to  get 
in  a  fix  he  had  never  been  before.  All  were  anxious  to  see  the 
arrival  of  the  two  thousand-ruble  bride.  The  blacksmith  and  the 
inn-keeper  were  discussing  something  excitedly. 

"Say  what  you  want,  but  this  kind  of  matrimonial  aff'air  is  the 
limit,"  argued  the  blacksmitli,  pushing  back  his  hat.  "I  can't  see 
how  a  woman  comes  such  a  distance  and  so  many  weeks  to  marry 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  183 

Petka,  whom  she  has  never  seen,  and  how  Petka  gets  the  crazy 
thought  to  marry  a  city  woman  whom  he  does  not  know.  Some- 
tliing   is  wrong   somewhere.     This   is   going   to   bust   sooner   or 

later." 

"My  dear  Vasska,  it's  the  education,  the  refinement  and  all  that 
which  I  and  you  can  do  without,"  grunted  the  inn-keeper. 

Vasska  rubbed  his  fists  and  spat  vigorously.  The  inn-keeper 
tried  to  mollify  him  by  saying  that  he  should  not  take  the  matter 
so  seriously. 

Suddenly  the  dogs  began  to  bark  .and  the  boys  shouted: 

"The  American  bride!     Here  comes  the  lady  from  abroad!" 

All  the  guests  rushed  out  to  see  her.  And  there  she  was,  in  a 
big  flower-trimmed  hat,  with  a  silk  parasol,  and  all  the  wonderful 
fineries.  She  looked  so  elegant,  so  superior  that  the  village 
women,  accustomed  to  their  rural  simplicity,  felt  overawed.  The 
groom  hurrying  with  throbbing  heart  to  open  the  gates  of  tlie  front- 
yard  bowed  almost  to  the  ground  to  the  dazzling  reality  of  his 
romantic  dreams.  He  was  so  confused  by  this  apparition  that  he 
did  not  know  whether  to  shout  or  cry. 

"My  gracious,  how  she  is  made  up!"  whispered  the  women. 

"What  a  wonderful  dress!"  whispered  the  girls. 

"Ain't  you  Petka?  You  deary!"  exclaimed  the  bride,  affecting 
a  foreign  accent. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,  gracious  yes,"  stammered  the  groom  nerv- 
ously, wiping  the  tears  of  joy  from  his  eyes. 

"Gee,  Petka,  you  are  a  nice  boy!"  gushed  the  bride,  trying  to 
show  the  quality  of  her  refinement. 

She  took  his  both  hands  and  whispered  that  he  should  kiss  them 
gracefully  in  the  American  manner.  Then  she  leaned  her  head 
on  his  shoulder  and  sighed.  These  American  manners  so  em- 
barrassed the  groom  that  he  blushed  and  dropped  his  eyes.     But 


184     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

after  all,  was  she  not  a  highly  educated  American  lady?  And  of 
course,  she  knew  what  was  proper. 

Though  Liza  looked  ten  years  older  than  Petka,  yet  she  had  all 
the  city  air,  the  American  manners  and  style,  and  most  important 
of  all,  she  had  the  capital.  The  first  question  Liza  asked  was 
v^hether  they  had  a  manicure,  hair-dresser  and  boot-black  in  the 
village.  No  one  had  ever  heard  that  such  functionaries  existed, 
so  the  groom  explained  excitedly  that  he  would  take  her  after  the 
wedding  to  the  town  where  she  could  get  what  she  wanted.  Petka 
carried  the  trunk  and  the  five  suit-cases  into  the  house,  implements 
which  no  one  had  ever  seen.  All  the  novelties  and  sensations 
were  so  great  that  tlie  guests  and  the  groom  felt  dazed  for  a 
moment. 

"Have  you  got  here  champagne?"  asked  the  bride,  entering  the 
house. 

"We  do  not  have  such  American  drinks.  We  have  kvas,  beer, 
vodka  and  all  the  home-made  cordials,"  stammered  the  groom. 

"But  you  must  have  some  high-balls  or  cocktails  at  least,"  went 
on  the  bride  with  an  affected  gesture. 

"My  gracious,  there  we  are!"  groaned  the  groom,  and  shrugged 
denyingly  his  shoulders.  "We've  never  handled  those  things  here, 
so  you  must  forgive  us." 

"Mademoiselle  Liza,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  the  inn- 
keeper seriously.  "We  can  arrange  the  balls  and  tails,  but  you 
see  we  are  simple  coimtry  people  and  keep  our  bowels  in  order. 
City  amusements  put  our  stomachs  in  a  bad  fix  and  don't  agree 
with  us." 

The  groom  felt  embarrassed  and  did  not  know  what  to  do.  He 
bowed  apologetically  before  his  bride  and  tried  to  please  her  in 
every  possible  way.  He  imitated  her  gestures  and  manners,  her 
shrugs  and  voice.     He  even  kept  his  hands  on  his  breast,  as  was 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  185 

Liza's  manner.  Finally  the  bride  asked  whether  there  was  any 
entertainment  prepared  as  she  had  asked.  The  groom  gave  the 
inn-keeper  a  hint  and  the  latter  said  that  he  would  do  his  best. 
The  three  musicians  were  already  concealed  with  their  instruments 
in  tlie  big  barrel  and  the  imposing  organist  began  his  function. 
Strains  of  an  unique  music  issued  from  the  decorated  music-box. 
Everybody  at  once  rushed  into  the  room.  All  stared  amazed  at 
the  strange  contrivance  which  played  at  one  and  the  same  time  con- 
certina, violin  and  drum.  It  was  like  a  miracle,  gripping  and 
inspiring. 

"I  bet  you  this  would  interest  your  American  audiences,"  re- 
marked the  inn-keeper  to  the  bride. 

"It  beats  the  Coney  Island  noise,"  stammered  Liza,  and  took  up 
the  conversation  with  a  village  woman. 

All  the  house  now  was  jollity.  The  room  was  bursting  of  the 
powerful  music,  the  laughter  and  the  loud  conversation  of  the 
guests.  How  it  happened  no  one  knows,  but  one  of  the  women  had 
placed  a  bowl  willi  hot  punch  on  the  music  box.  Whether  through 
an  accident,  or  the  excitement  of  the  organist,  the  vessel  broke,  and 
the  punch  leaked  through  the  cracks  and  holes  into  the  instrument. 
Suddenly  the  music  stopped,  although  the  conductor  was  still  indus- 
triously turning  the  lever.  Then  were  heard  mysterious  voices 
and  sounds  as  if  of  muffled  exclamations.  Everybody  looked  at 
the  music-box,  which  began  to  quake  and  tremble  as  if  a  ghost  were 
witliin.  Then  arose  fierce  yells  and  agonizing  cries,  mixed  with 
loud  curses.  Before  anybody  could  realize  what  had  happened, 
three  angry  musicians  leaped  from  the  music  instrument,  the 
steaming  punch  dropping  from  their  heads. 

"Good  Lord,  what's  this?"  gasped  the  men  while  the  women 
shrieked  and  fled.  One  of  the  musicians  put  his  fist  under  the 
frightened  organist  and  shouted: 


186     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"I'll  pay  for  this  joke,  you  scoundrel!" 

"Semen,  don't  be  a  fool.  I  didn't  do  it.  By  Jove,  I  didn't 
do  it,"  exclaimed  apologetically  the  organist,  trembling. 

"Damn,  who  did  it?"  asked  the  groom  excited. 

No  one  replied.  And  when  the  people  realized  what  had  hap- 
pened, everybody  roared.  No  one  who  glanced  at  tlie  overturned 
music  instrument  and  at  the  musicians,  with  their  punch-dropping 
heads  could  restrain  their  laughter.  Even  the  pompous  bride  found 
it  so  funny  that  she  laughed  with  the  rest. 

When  the  excitement  was  over  and  the  dessert  was  ready  the 
wedding  guests  once  more  took  their  seats  at  the  table.  The  inn- 
keeper, thinking  that  this  was  the  moment  to  settle  the  matter  of 
dowry,  before  the  actual  marriage  act  could  be  performed  by  the 
priest,  knocked  upon  the  table  for  quiet.  Then  he  arose,  wiped 
his  beard  and  began: 

"Friends,  this  is  a  very  unusual  ceremony,  our  best  known 
citizen  and  friend  Petka,  marrying  a  girl  from  America.  Petka 
loves  Liza,  it  is  all  right.  But  I  know  and  so  all  our  guests  know, 
that  Petka  expected  the  bride  to  bring  a  fat  dowry.  Now  we  all 
would  like  to  see  the  bride  place  her  dowry  upon  the  table  before 
she  is  declared  the  wife  of  our  friend,  Petka.  We  think  that  in  jus- 
tice to  the  guests  she  ought  to  do  that,  because  it  was  understood 
that  she  bring  the  money  and  we  give  her  the  husband.  Don't  you 
think,  friends  and  guests,  that  I  am  right?" 

Everybody  shouted  "Bravo,  inn-keeper,"  only  the  groom  and 
the  bride  sat  silent  with  downcast  eyes.  Finally  the  bride  glanced 
at  Petka,  pulled  a  bag  from  her  dress,  opened  it  and  laid  a  bunch 
of  green  bills  on  the  table.  All  eyes  stared  in  awe  at  the  money, 
and  the  guests  were  so  silent  that  one  could  hear  the  beating  of  their 
hearts.  Only  the  purring  of  the  cats,  looking  curiously  down 
from  the  big  stove,  was  to  be  heard. 


RUSSIA— NARODNY  187 

"Here  is  the  dowry,  right  here.  It  is  in  American  money,  one 
thousand  dollars,  which  is  equal  to  two  thousand  rubles  in  your 
money.     It's  all  in  cash,"  exclaimed  the  bride  proudly. 

The  inn-keeper  took  the  bills,  looked  at  tliem  curiously,  turned 
them  over  and  over  and  shook  his  head.  The  blacksmith  took  one 
bill  after  the  other,  and  did  the  same.  For  several  minutes  every- 
body was  quiet.  The  "organist"  who  sat  next  to  the  inn-keeper, 
took  the  money,  looked  at  it  still  more  closely  and  then  smelled  it. 
Taking  one  of  die  bills  in  his  hand,  he  rose  and  showed  it  to  all  the 
guests  and  asked: 

"Friends,  have  you  ever  seen  this  kind  of  money?" 

"No,"  was  the  unanimous  reply  of  the  guests. 

"Can  any  one  here  read  American?"  asked  the  blacksmith. 

No  one  replied. 

"The  money  is  all  right.  I  rushed  to  reach  the  train  so  I  had 
no  time  to  exchange  it  into  your  rubles,"  replied  the  bride. 

"It  might  be  all  right,"  replied  the  inn-keeper,  "but  what  do 
we  know  about  the  American  money  and  its  value?  I've  been 
told  many  stories  of  American  girls  boasting  they  have  money 
enough  to  buy  their  husband,  but  heaven  knows.  It's  a  country  too 
far  away  and  a  language  too  complicated  for  us  to  understand. 
We  like  to  have  our  stuff  on  the  table  before  everytliing  is  all 
right." 

The  bride  glanced  at  the  groom.  The  groom  took  silently  her 
hand,  assuring  her  that  he  cared  nothing  for  what  her  dowry  was 
worth,  if  he  had  only  her  as  his  wife. 

"What  nonsense!  I  came  on  Pelka's  invitation,  and  I'll  stay 
with  him,  do  you  let  the  priest  marry  us  or  not.  We  can  go  both 
to  America  and  marry  there,  but  never  here,"  exclaimed  tlie  bride, 
tossing  her  head  and  snorting  her  indignation.  As  she  rose,  she 
took  Petka  by  his  hand  and  gave  this  parting  thrust: 


188  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"Do  you  want  or  not,  but  I'll  stay  with  Petka  here.  We  don't 
care  for  your  priest,  I  keep  the  American  law  and  know  what's 
what." 

"Liza,  Liza,  listen.  Don't  make  a  scandal  like  that  here.  Let's 
better  harness  our  horses  and  get  to  the  priest  as  fast  as  we  can," 
shouted  the  excited  guests,  all  following  the  couple. 


J/: 


RUSSIA— MAKOW  SKY  189 

THE  INSANE  PRIEST 

i\  PRIEST  insane  went  many  days  without  repose  or  sleep, 
"My  visions  are  a  shadow  world  but  love  is  real  and  deep." 
He,  like  a  prophet,  staff  in  hand,  sought  out  a  distant  shrine. 
"As  sacred  ash  are  all  my  dreams,  and  fateful  love  is  mine." 
Long,  long  he  knelt  and  prayed  alone,  his  tears  fell  unrestrained. 
"My  visions  are  the  snow-crowned  heights,  my  love  the  flood  un- 
chained." 
A  sacrifice  he  laid  upon  that  altar  far  away. 
"My  visions  are  a  dream  of  dawn,  my  love  the  radiant  day." 
A  knife  he  thrust  into  his  heart,  to  seal  the  holy  rite. 
"My  visions  all  resplendent  glow,  my  love  is  like  the  night." 
And  on  the  altar  falling  prone,  he  then  gave  up  his  soul. 
"My  visions  are  the  lightning's  flash,  my  love  the  thunder's  roll." 
Upon  the  altar  poured  his  blood,  it  formed  a  crimson  pall. 
"As  his  deliriums  are  my  dreams,  as  death  my  love  my  all." 

Sergey  Makowsky 

Translation  by  Constance  Purdy 

Note:  To  this  poem  Mr.  Reinhold  Gliere  has  composed  a  magnificent  musical 
setting  with  piano  and  orchestra  accompaniment  and  dedicated  it  to  a  prominent 
Russian  revolutionist. 


190  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

WITHOUT  A  COUNTRY 

vJNE  thought  awakes  us  early  in  tlie  morning. 
One  thought  follows  us  the  whole  day  long. 
One  thought  stabs  at  night  our  breast: 
Is  my  father  suffering? 

One  sorrow  awakes  us  at  dawn  like  an  executioner. 
One  sorrow  is  persecuting  us  ceaselessly. 
One  sorrow  is  swelling  our  breast  the  whole  night  long: 
Is  my  mother  alive? 

A  longing  awakes  us  at  daybreak, 
A  longing  is  continually  hidden  in  our  heart, 
A  longing  is  burning  at  night  in  our  breast; 
What  of  my  wife? 

A  fear  awakes  us  early  like  a  funeral  mass, 
A  fear  persecutes  us  and  darkens  our  eyes, 
A  fear  fills  at  night  our  breast  with  hatred: 
Our  sisters  are  threatened  with  shame. 

A  pain  awakes  us  in  the  morning  like  a  trumpet. 
With  pain  is  filled  every  glass  we  drink 
With  pain  is  secretly  weeping  our  breast: 
Where  are  our  children? 

.  .  .  Only  one  way  will  give  an  answer: 

Through  a  river  of  blood  and  over  a  bridge  of  dead! 


SERBIA— BOICH  191 

Woe!  you  will  reach  your  home  where  the  mother,  who  died  of 

sorrow, 
Does  not  wait  for  her  son  any  more. 

M.  BoiCH 


NoiE:  M.  Boich  is  a  young  Serbian  poet,  now  about  twenty-six  years  old,  who 
already  has  a  recognized  place  in  modem  Serbian  Literature.  The  poem  "Without  a 
Country"  was  written  after  the  well-known  Serbian  tragedy  of  1915,  and  was  pub- 
lished last  year  (March  28)  in  the  official  Serbian  journal  "Srpske  Novine,"  which 
now  appears  at  Corfu. 


192  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 

INDIAN  PRAYER 
TO  THE  MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT 


L 


ORD  of  the  Mountain, 
[Reared  within  the  Mountain 
Young  Man,  Chieftain, 
Hear  a  young  man's  prayer! 

Hear  a  prayer  for  cleanness. 
Keeper  of  the  strong  rain. 
Drumming  on  the  mountain; 
Lord  of  the  small  rain 
That  restores  the  earth  in  newness; 
Keeper  of  the  clean  rain. 
Hear  a  prayer  for  wholeness. 

Young  Man,  Chieftain. 
Hear  a  prayer  for  fleetness. 
Keeper  of  the  deer's  way, 
Reared  among  the  eagles, 
Clear  my  feet  of  slothness. 
Keeper  of  the  paths  of  men. 
Hear  a  prayer  for  straightness. 

Hear  a  prayer  for  braveness. 
Lord  of  the  thin  peaks. 
Reared  amid  the  thunders; 
Keeper  of  the  headlands 
Holding  up  the  harvest, 


^^. 


/ 


^;..y 


"  BIG  MOON  " 

BLACK    FOOT    CIIIKF 

liy  John  Sargenl 
From  Oriyiriat  Drawing 


AN  INTERLUDE— AUSTIN  193 

Keeper  of  the  strong  rocks 
Hear  a  prayer  for  staunchness. 

Young  Man,  Chieftain, 
Spirit  of  the  Mountain! 

Interpreted  by 


194     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


w 


TO  AMERICA-^  JULY,  1776 

HEN  England's  king  put  English  to  the  hom,^ 

To  England  thus  spake  England  over  sea, 

"In  peace  be  friend,  in  war  my  enemy"; 

Then  countering  pride  with  pride,  and  lies  with  scorn. 

Broke  with  the  man  *  whose  ancestor  had  borne 

A  sharper  pain  for  no  more  injury. 

How  otherwise  should  free  men  deal  and  be, 

With  patience  frayed  and  loyalty  outworn? 

No  act  of  England's  shone  more  generous  gules 
Than  that  which  sever'd  once  for  all  the  strands 
Which  bound  you  English.     You  may  search  the  lands 
In  vain,  and  vainly  rummage  in  the  schools. 
To  find  a  deed  more  English,  or  a  shame 
On  England  with  more  honor  to  her  name. 


1  To  "put  to  the  horn"  was  to  declare  an  outlawry. 

2  The  "num"  is  George  III,  bis  "ancestor,"  Charles  I. 


"A  PROFILE" 

By  John  Sargenl 
From  Oriyinal  Drawing 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— ELIOT     195 

THE  NEED  OF  FORCE  TO  WIN  AND  MAINTAIN 

PEACE 


M' 


UST,  then,  gende  and  reasonable  men  and  women  give  over 
their  sons  to  the  National  Government  to  be  trained  for  the 
devilish  work  of  war?  Must  civilized  society  continue  to  fight 
war  with  war?  Is  not  that  process  a  complete  failure?  Shall  we 
not  henceforth  contend  against  evil-doing  by  good-doing,  against 
brutality  by  gentleness,  against  vice  in  others  solely  by  virtue  in 
ourselves? 

There  are  many  sound  answers  to  these  insistent  queries.  One 
is  the  policeman,  usually  a  protective  and  adjusting  force,  but 
armed  and  trained  to  hurt  and  kill  in  defense  of  society  against 
criminals  and  lunatics.  Another  is  the  mother  who  blazes  into  vio- 
lence, witli  all  her  little  might,  in  defense  of  her  child.  Even  the 
little  birds  do  that.  Another  is  the  instinctive  forcible  resistance 
of  any  natural  man  to  insult  or  injuiy  committed  or  threatened 
against  his  mother,  wife,  or  daughter.  The  lions  and  tigers  do  as 
much.  A  moving  answer  of  a  different  sort  is  found  in  words  writ- 
ten by  Mme.  le  Verrier  to  the  parents  of  Victor  Chapman  on  her 
return  from  his  funeral  in  the  American  Church  in  Paris — "It  .  .  . 
has  brought  home  to  me  the  beauty  of  heroic  death  and  the  mean- 
ing of  life." 

The  answer  from  history  is  that  primitive  Governments  were 
despotic,  and  in  barbarous  societies  might  makes  right;  but  that 
liberty  under  law  has  been  wrung  from  authority  and  might  by 
strenuous  resistance,  physical  as  well  as  moral,  and  not  by  yielding 
to  injustice  or  practising  non-resistance.  The  Dutch  Republic,  the 
British  Commonwealth,  the  French  Republic,  the  Italian  and  Scan- 
dinavian constitutional  monarchies,  and  the  American  republics 


196     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

have  all  been  developed  by  generations  of  men  ready  to  fight  and 
fighting. 

So  long  as  there  are  wolves,  sheep  cannot  form  a  safe  community. 
The  precious  liberties  which  a  few  more  fortunate  or  more  vigorous 
nations  have  won  by  fighting  for  them  generation  after  generation, 
those  nations  will  have  to  preserve  by  keeping  ready  to  fight  in 
their  defense. 

The  only  complete  answer  to  these  arguments  in  favor  of  using 
force  in  defense  of  liberty  is  that  liberty  is  not  worth  the  cost. 
In  free  countries  to-day  very  few  persons  hold  that  opinion. 


OLLh-SL, 


George  liarnaril:   Sculptor 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— GIBBONS     197 

WOMAN  AND  MERCY 

WOMAN  and  Mercy — to  diink  of  one  is  to  think  of  the  other, 
and  yet  the  suggestion  of  ideas  is  purely  Christian.  The 
ancient  world  knew  of  a  few  great  women  who  transcended  the 
conditions  of  society  in  those  days  and  helped,  each  one  her  coun- 
try, in  some  extraordinary  way.  Thus  Deborah  helped  the  people 
of  God  in  a  time  of  terrible  difficulty.  And  even  the  Pagan  world 
was  not  without  its  Semiramis  and  its  Portia,  When  mercy  came 
into  the  world  with  Christianity  the  dispensation  of  it  was  largely 
committed  to  the  gentle  hands  of  women,  for  since  men  have  be- 
lieved that  Cod  has  taken  a  woman  to  be  His  human  mother,  tlie 
position  of  every  woman  has  been  tliat  of  a  mother  and  of  a  queen. 
The  wife  has  become  the  guardian  of  the  internal  affairs  of  the 
home  as  the  husband  is  of  its  external  affairs. 

Whenever  women  have  acted  up  to  the  noble  ideals  of  woman- 
hood preached  by  the  Christian  religion,  they  have  received  honor, 
respect,  deference  and  almost  worship  from  the  ruder  sex. 

It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  think  that  in  our  own  country  so 
many  women  have  banded  themselves  together  for  such  a  noble 
ideal  as  that  embodied  in  the  very  name  of  "The  Militia  of  Mercy." 
Here  in  her  true  sphere,  as  nurse,  woman  will  shed  the  gentle  light 
of  mercy  over  the  gory  battle  field  and  amid  the  pain  and  wounds 
of  the  hospital  wards;  or,  if  she  is  not  called  to  such  active  partici- 
pation she  will  find  means  to  hold  up  the  hands  of  those  more  ac- 
tively engaged,  and  in  countless  ways  will  she  be  able  to  mitigate 
the  evils  of  this  most  terrible  of  all  wars,  and  not  least  of  all 
because  of  the  gift  of  piety  with  which  Almighty  God  has  so  gen- 
erously endowed  her.  Her  unceasing  prayers  will  ascend  to  the 
throne  of  God  for  those  engaged  in  this  terrible  struggle,  and 


198     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

mercies  and  blessings  will  be  drawn  down  upon  multitudes  of 
people  whom  she  has  never  seen. 

I  bid  Godspeed  to  The  Militia  of  Mercy,  and  I  hope  that  every 
American  woman  who  can  will  take  part  in  this  most  womanly  and 
most  patriotic  work. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— GRIFFITHS     199 
JOAN  OF  ARC— HER  HERITAGE 

I  SAW  in  Orleans  three  years  ago  tlie  celebration  of  the  487th 
Anniversary  of  the  deliverance  of  the  ancient  city  by  Joan 

of  Arc. 

The  flower  of  the  French  army  passed  before  me,  the  glorious 
sunlight  touching  sword  and  lance  and  bayonet  tip  until  they 
formed  a  shimmering  fretwork  of  steel.  Then  came  the  City 
Fathers  in  democratic  dress— and  following  tliem,  the  dignitaries 
of  the  Church,  in  purple  and  crimson  and  old  lace,  and  a  host 
of  choir  boys  singing  Glory  to  God  in  the  Highest,  and  finally  in 
his  splendid  scarlet  robe,  a  cardinal  symbolical  of  power  and 
majesty  and  dominion. 

In  whose  honor  was  all  this  gorgeous  pageantry?     In  honor  of 
a  simple  peasant  girl,  who  saw  or  thought  she  saw  visions— it  is 
perfectly  immaterial  whether  she  did  or  not— and  who  heard  or 
fancied  she  heard— it  matters  not— voices  calling  to  her  out  of  tlie 
silences  of  the  night  to  go  forth  and  save  France.     Soldiers  and 
clergy  and  populace.  Catholics  and  Protestants  and  pagans  united 
in  paying  homage  to  the  courage  of  a  woman.     And  I  thought  as  I 
watched  that  brilliant  spectacle  in  the  shadow  of  the  old  cathedral, 
tliat  thousands  of  women  in  the  twentieth  century  in  England  and 
America,  and  France  and  Germany  and  all  the  Nations  are  serving 
in  a  different  way,  it  is  true,  from  the  way  in  which  Joan  of  Arc 
served  France,  but  none  the  less  effectively.     Aye,  even  more  so, 
as  they  go  forth  clad  not  in  mail,  but  in  Christian  love  to  help 
mankind.     In  the  very  forefront  of  this  shining  host  are  the  trained 
nurses,    following   the    standard   uplifted   by   Florence   Nightin- 
gale. 

When  I  see  a  trained  nurse  in  her  attractive  cap  and  gown  I  al- 


200     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ways  feel  that  a  richer  memory,  a  finer  intention  has  been  read 
into  life.     Wherever  they  go  they  carry  healing  with  them. 

To  maintain  this  army  of  militant  good  will  and  helpfulness, 
and  to  increase  it  as  occasion  requires  is  an  obligation  so  imperative 
that  it  cannot  be  evaded. 

Never  was  it  as  urgent  as  it  is  to-day,  that  there  should  be 
generous  response  to  the  appeal  for  nurses. 

If  we  are  often  discouraged  in  our  philanthropic  work,  it  is  not 
because  we  consider  what  we  are  doing  in  a  detached  way,  inde- 
pendent of  its  world  relationships.  If  we  could  only  realize  that 
we  are  part  of  the  mighty  army  composed  of  all  nationalities  and 
races  and  creeds,  an  army  of  life,  not  of  death,  marching  against 
disease  and  suffering  and  misery  and  sin,  we  would  be  inspired  to 
wage  the  conflict  with  greater  vigor,  until  our  vision  of  the  world 
freed  from  suff'ering,  was  realized. 

When  the  realization  comes,  it  will  not  come  with  shouting  and 
tumult,  but  will  come  quietly  and  beautifully  as  the  sun  makes  its 
triumphant  progress  through  the  heavens,  gradually  conquering 
the  night  until  at  last  tlie  earth  is  flooded  with  glorious  warmth  and 
light  and  all  the  formless  shapes  that  loved  darkness  rather  than 
light  silently  steal  away  and  are  forgotten. 

John  Lewis  Griffiths 

Note:    Although  the  above  selection  was  part  of  an  address  delivered  in  London 
in  1911,  its  truth  is  more  apparent  today  than  ever  before. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— JOWETT    201 


THINGS  WHICH  CANNOT  BE  SHAKEN 

THERE  are  seasons  in  life  when  everything  seems  to  be  shaking. 
Old  landmarks  are  crumbling.  Venerable  foundations  are 
upheaved  in  a  night,  and  are  scattered  abroad  as  dust.  Guid- 
ing buoys  snap  tlieir  moorings,  and  go  drifting  down  tlie  channel. 
Institutions  which  promised  to  outlast  the  hills  collapse  like  a 
stricken  tent.  Assumptions  in  which  everybody  trusted  burst  like 
air-balloons.  Everything  seems  to  lose  its  base,  and  trembles  in 
uncertainty  and  confusion. 

Such  seasons  are  known  in  our  personal  life.  One  day  our 
circumstances  appear  to  share  the  unshaken  solidity  of  the  planet, 
and  our  security  is  complete.  And  then  some  undreamed-of  antag- 
onism assaults  our  life.  We  speak  of  it  as  a  bolt  from  the  blue! 
Perhaps  it  is  some  stunning  disaster  in  business.  Or  perhaps  death 
has  leaped  into  our  quiet  meadows.  Or  perhaps  some  presump- 
tuous sin  has  suddenly  revealed  its  foul  face  in  the  life  of  one  of 
our  children.  And  we  are  "all  at  sea!"  Our  little,  neat  hypodi- 
eses  crumple  like  withered  leaves.  Our  accustomed  roads  are  all 
broken  up,  our  conventional  ways  of  tliinking  and  feeling,  and  the 
sure  sequences  on  whicli  we  have  depended  vanish  in  a  night.  It 
is  experiences  like  these  which  make  the  soul  cry  out  with  the 
psalmist,  in  bewilderment  and  fear, — "My  foot  slippeth!"  His 
customary  foothold  had  given  way.  The  ground  was  shaking 
beneath  him.     The  foundations  trembled. 

And  such  seasons  are  known  in  the  life  of  nations.  An  easy- 
going traditionalism  can  be  overturned  in  a  single  blast.  Conven- 
tional standards,  which  seemed  to  have  the  fixedness  of  the  stars, 
are  blown  to  the  winds.  Political  and  economic  safeguards  go 
down  like  wooden  fences  before  an  angry  sea.     The  customary 


202     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

foundations  of  society  are  shaken.  We  must  surely  have  had  such 
experiences  as  these  during  the  past  weeks  and  montlis.  What  was 
unthinkable  has  become  a  commonplace.  The  impossible  has  hap- 
pened. Our  working  assumptions  are  in  ruins.  Common  securi- 
ties have  vanished.  And  on  every  side  men  and  women  are  whis- 
pering the  question, — Where  are  we?  We  are  all  staggered! 
And  everywhere  men  and  women,  in  their  own  way,  are  whispering 
the  confession  of  the  psalmist, — "My  foot  slippeth!" 

Well,  where  are  we?  Amid  all  these  violations  of  our  ideals, 
and  the  quenching  of  our  hopes,  in  this  riot  of  barbarism  and 
unutterable  sorrow,  where  are  we?  Wliere  can  we  find  a  footing? 
Where  can  we  stay  our  souls?  Where  can  we  set  our  feet  as  upon 
solid  rock?  Amid  the  many  things  which  are  shaking  what  things 
are  tliere  which  cannot  be  shaken? 

"Things  which  cannot  be  shaken."  Let  us  begin  here:  The 
supremacy  of  spiritual  forces  cannot  be  shaken.  The  obstrusive 
circumstances  of  the  hour  shriek  against  that  creed.  Spiritual 
forces  seem  to  be  overwhelmed.  We  are  witnessing  a  perfect  car- 
nival of  insensate  materialism.  The  narratives  which  fill  the  col- 
umns of  the  daily  press  reek  with  the  fierce  spectacle  of  labor 
and  achievement.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this  appalling  outrage 
upon  the  senses,  we  must  steadily  beware  of  becoming  tlie  victims 
of  the  apparent  and  the  transient.  Behind  the  unchartered  riot 
there  hides  a  power  whose  invisible  energy  is  tlie  real  master  of  the 
field.  The  ocean  can  be  lashed  by  the  winds  into  indescribable 
fury,  and  the  breakers  may  rise  and  fall  in  crushing  weight  and 
disaster;  and  yet  behind  and  beneath  all  the  wild  phenomena  there 
is  a  subtle,  mystical  force  which  is  exerting  its  silent  mastery  even 
at  the  very  height  of  the  storm.  We  must  discriminate  between  the 
phenomenal  and  the  spiritual,  between  the  event  of  the  hour  and  the 
drift  of  the  year,  between  the  issue  of  a  battle  and  the  tendency  of  a 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— JOWETT    203 

campaign.  All  of  which  means  that  "While  we  look  at  the  things 
which  are  seen,  we  are  also  to  look  at  the  things  which  are  not  seen." 
Well,  look  at  them. 

The  power  of  truth  can  never  be  shaken.  The  force  of  disloy- 
alty may  have  its  hour  of  triumph,  and  treachery  may  march  for  a 
season  to  victory  after  victory;  but  all  the  while  truth  is  secretly 
exercising  her  mastery,  and  in  the  long  run  the  labor  of  falsehood 
will  crumble  into  ruin.  There  is  no  permanent  conquest  for  a  lie. 
You  can  no  more  keep  the  truth  interred  than  you  could  keep  the 
Lord  interred  in  Joseph's  tomb.  You  cannot  bury  the  truth,  you 
cannot  strangle  her,  you  cannot  even  shake  her!  You  may  bum 
up  the  records  of  truth,  but  you  cannot  impair  the  truth  itself! 
When  the  records  are  reduced  to  ashes  truth  shall  walk  abroad  as 
an  indestructible  angel  and  minister  of  the  Lord!  "He  shall  give 
His  angels  charge  over  thee,"  and  truth  is  one  of  His  angels,  and 
she  cannot  be  destroyed. 

There  was  a  people  in  the  olden  days  who  sought  to  find  security 
in  falsehood,  and  to  construct  a  sovereignty  by  the  aid  of  broken 
covenants.     Let  me  read  to  you  their  boasts  as  it  is  recorded  by  the 
prophet  Isaiah:     "We  have  made  a  covenant  with  death,  and  with 
hell  are  we  at  agreement:  when  the  overflowing  scourge  shall  pass 
through,  it  shall  not  come  unto  us,  for  we  have  made  lies  our  refuge, 
and  under  falsehood  have  we  hid  ourselves."     And  so  they  ban- 
ished truth.     But  banished  truth  is  not  vanquished  truth.     Truth  is 
never  idle;  she  is  ever  active  and  ubiquitous,  she  is  forever  and 
forever  our  antagonist  or  our  friend.     "Therefore  thus  saith  the 
Lord  God  .  .  •  your  covenant  with  death  shall  be  disannulled,  and 
your  agreement  with  hell  shall  not  stand  .  .  .  and  the  hail  shall 
sweep  away  the  refuge  of  lies,  and  the  waters  shall  overflow  the 
hiding-places."     Thus  said  the  Lord!     We  may  silence  a  fort,  but 
we  cannot  paralyze  the  truth.     Amid  all  the  material  convulsions 


204     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

of  the  day  the  supremacy  of  truth  remains  unshaken.  "The  mouth 
of  the  Lord  hath  spoken  it." 

"Things  which  cannot  be  shaken!"  What  is  there  which  cannot 
be  shaken?  The  passion  of  freedom  is  one  of  the  rarest  of  spirit- 
ual flames,  and  it  can  not  be  quenched.  Make  your  appeal  to 
history.  Again  and  again  militarism  has  sought  to  crush  it,  but  it 
has  seemed  to  share  the  very  life  of  God.  Brutal  inspirations  have 
tried  to  smother  it,  but  it  has  breathed  an  indestructible  life. 
Study  its  energy  in  the  historical  records  of  the  Book  or  in  annals 
of  a  wider  field.  Study  the  passion  of  freedom  amid  the  oppres- 
sions of  Egypt,  or  in  tlie  captivity  of  Babylon,  or  in  the  servitude  of 
Rome.  How  does  the  passion  express  itself?  "If  I  forget  thee,  0 
Jerusalem,  may  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  and  may 
my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning!"  Study  it  in  the  glowing  pages 
of  the  history  of  this  country,  that  breath  of  free  aspiration  which  no 
power  of  armament,  and  no  menace  of  material  strength  was  ever 
able  to  destroy.  The  mightiest  force  in  all  those  days  was  not  the 
power  of  threat,  and  powder,  and  sword,  but  that  breath  of  invinc- 
ible aspiration  which  was  the  very  breath  of  God.  And  when  we 
gaze  upon  stricken  Belgium  to-day,  and  look  upon  her  sorrows,  and 
her  smitten  fields,  and  her  ruined  cities,  and  her  desolate  homes,  we 
can  firmly  and  confidently  proclaim  that  the  breath  of  that  divinely 
planted  aspiration,  her  passion  of  freedom,  will  prove  to  be 
mightier  than  all  the  materialistic  strength  and  all  tlie  prodigious 
armaments  which  seem  to  have  laid  her  low.  It  is  a  reality  which 
cannot  be  shaken. 

There  are  other  spiritual  forces  which  we  might  have  named,  and 
which  would  have  manifested  the  same  incontestable  supremacy: 
there  is  the  energy  of  meekness,  that  spirit  of  docility  which  com- 
munes with  the  Almighty  in  hallowed  and  receptive  awe:  there  is 
the  boundless  vitality  of  love  which  lives  on  through  midnight  after 


nw*^ 


DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

'.y  the  supremacy  of  truth  remains  unshaken.     "Tlio  mouth 

ord  hath  spoken  it." 
i  luiigs  whicli  cannot  be  shaken!"  What  is  there-^hich  cannot 
be  shaken?  The  passion  of  freedom  is  one  of  the  rarest  of  -spirit- 
ual flames,  and  it  can  not  be  quf  nched.  Make  your  appeal  to 
liistory.  Again  and  again  militarism  has  sought  to  crush  it,  but  it 
has  seemed  to  share  the  very  life  of  God.  Brutal  inspirations  have 
tried  to  smother  it,  but  it  has  breathed  an  indestructible  life. 
Study  its  energy  in  the  histo       '  '     "     '     -  in  annals 

of  a  wider  field.     Study  ilv  -^^  'oppres- 

sions of  Egypt,  or  in  the  captivity  of  BaL;  He  of 

Rome.     How  does  the  passion  express  itself  .^  O 

Jerusalem,  may  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  u. 

my  right  hand  f'TH^DORi&gft'OCfeEVEjET^^ 

of  thehistorv' of  ti.isftpi<a««!8e?!B»irk«B^' rt/^' J  ■•  ■  -j 

able  to  destroy.     Trie  migntiest'iorce  m  an  mo»e  da;,  ae 

power  of  threat,  and  powder,  and  sword,  but  that  breath  of  invinc- 
ible aspiration  which  was  the  very  breath  of  God.  And  when  we 
gaze  upon  stricken  Belgium  to-dav  md  look  upon  her  sorrows,  and 
her  smitten  fields,  and  lier  ruined  cities,  and  her  desolate  homes,  we 
can  firmly  and  confidfiitly  proclaim  that  the  breath  of  that  divinely 
yjlanted  aspiration,  lif-r  pa--''-^  ■'■■>'  f-^'-  f'<m,  will  prove  to  be 
mightier  than  all  the  materi  .i  ~  ;nd  all  tlie  prodigious 

armaments  which  seem  to  have  laid  '.  It  is  a  reality  which 

cannot  be  shaken. 

There  are  other  spiritual  forces  which  we  might  have  named,  and 
which  would  have  manifested  the  same  incontestable  supremacy: 
there  is  the  energ)-  of  meekness,  that  spirit  of  docility  which  com- 
munes with  the  Almighty  in  hallowed  and  receptive  awe:  there  is 
udless  vitality  of  love  which  lives  on  through  midnight  after 


VISITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— JOWETT    205 

midnight,  unf aiming  and  unspent:  there  is  the  inexliaustible  energy 
of  faith  which  hold  on  and  out  amid  the  massed  hostilities  of  all  its 
foes.  You  cannot  defeat  spirits  like  these,  you  cannot  crush  and 
destroy  tliera.  You  cannot  hold  them  under,  for  their  supremacy 
shares  the  holy  sovereignty  of  the  eternal  God.  "Not  by  might, 
nor  by  power,  but  by  my  Spirit,  saith  the  Lord";  and  these  spirits, 
the  spirit  of  truth,  the  spirit  of  freedom,  the  spirit  of  meekness  and 
love,  are  in  fellowship  with  the  divine  Spirit,  and  therefore  shall 
they  remain  unshaken. 


y,    k  .  Jv-umH — - 


206  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


SOMEWHERE  IN  FRANCE 

iiOOMEWHERE  in  France" — the  day  is  tranquil,  the  sky  un- 
k_/  vexed,  the  green  earth  without  a  wound  as  I  write;  yet 
"somewhere  in  France"  the  day  is  torn  with  clamors,  the  sky 
is  soiled  with  man's  mounting  hatred  of  man,  and  long,  open 
wounds  lie  cruelly  across  the  disputed  earth.  "Somewhere  in 
France" — my  mind  goes  back  to  remembered  scenes:  the  crowd 
blocking  the  approach  to  a  depot;  white  faces  and  staring  eyes,  eyes 
that  alternately  fear  and  hope,  and  in  the  crush  a  trickling  gray 
line  of  returning  permissionaires.  "Somewhere  in  France" — on 
such  a  perfect  day  as  this  I  see  a  little  village  street  nestled  among 
the  trees,  and  hear  the  sound  of  the  postman's  reluctant  feet  tapping 
over  the  cobblestones — the  postman  that  comes  with  die  relentless- 
ness  of  Fate — and  at  every  house  the  horror  of  the  black  envelope. 
"Somewhere  in  France"  the  great  immemorial  cathedrals  and  the 
dotted,  cool,  moss-covered  churches  are  filled  with  supplicating 
women  and  the  black-framed,  golden  locks  of  children  lifting  their 
eyes  before  the  Great  Consoler  as  the  sun  breaks  through  the  paling 
candle-flames.  "Somewhere  in  France" — in  its  crowded  stations 
I  remember  a  proud  womanhood,  gray  in  the  knowledge  of  sorrow, 
speeding  its  young  sons  and  speaking  die  Spartan  words.  "Some- 
where in  France,"  in  its  thousand  hospitals,  the  ministering  white- 
clad  angels  are  moving  in  their  long  vigils,  calm,  smiling,  inspired. 
"Somewhere  in  France" — I  see  again  imperishable  fragments  of 
remembered  emotions;  the  women  working  in  the  vineyards  of 
Champagne,  careless  of  fate  or  the  passing  shells;  the  orphan  chil- 
dren playing  in  the  ruins  of  Rheims;  a  laughing  child  in  bom- 
barded Arras  running  out  to  pick  up  an  exploded  shell,  a  child  in 
whom  daily  habit  has  brought  fear  into  contempt;  a  skeleton  of  a 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— JOHNSON    207 

church  in  far-flung  Betliany,  that  still  lives  in  a  sea  of  fire,  where 
a  black-coated  priest  of  the  unflinching  faith  was  holding  his  mass 
among  kneeling  men  before  an  altar  hidden  in  the  last  standing 
corner  from  which  the  shredded  ruins  had  been  swept. 

"Somewhere  in  France" — I  remember  the  volcanic  earth,  the 
strewn  ruin  of  all  things,  the  prostrate  handiwork  of  man  mingled 
with  the  indignant  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  from  a  burrowed  hole  a 
poilu  laughing  out  at  us  in  impertinent  greeting,  with  a  gaiety 
which  is  more  difficult  than  courage. 

"Somewhere  in  France" — in  bombarded  Arras,  was  it  not?— I 
remember  an  old  woman,  a  very  old  woman,  leaning  on  her  cane 
as  she  peered  from  her  cellar  door  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the 
smoldering  cathedral.  I  wonder  if  she  still  lives,  for  Arras  will 
be  struggling  back  to  life  now. 

"Somewhere  in  France" — what  tlironged  memories  troop  at 
these  liberating  words !  And  yet,  through  all  the  passing  drama  of 
remembered  little  tilings,  what  I  see  always  before  my  eyes  is  the 
spiritual  rise  of  Verdun.  Verdun,  heroic  sister  of  the  Mame; 
Verdun,  the  battling  heart  of  France — whose  stained  slopes  are 
anointed  by  the  blood  of  a  million  men.  Verdun!  The  very 
name  has  the  upward  fury  and  descending  shock  of  an  attacking 
wave  dying  against  an  immemorial  shore.  To  have  seen  it  as  I 
was  privileged  to  see  it  in  that  historic  first  week  of  August,  1915, 
at  the  turning  of  the  tide,  at  the  moment  of  the  retaking  of  Fleury 
and  Thiaumont,  was  to  have  stood  between  two  great  spectacles: 
the  written  page  of  a  defense  such  as  history  has  never  seen,  and 
the  future,  glowing  witli  the  unquenchable  fire  of  undying  France. 
When  I  think  of  the  flaming  courage  of  that  heroic  race,  my  imag- 
ination returns  always  to  the  vision  of  that  defense — not  the  patient 
fortitude  before  famine  of  Paris,  Sebastopol  or  Mafeking,  but 
that  miracle  of  patience  and  calm  in  the  face  of  torrential  rains  of 


208     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 

steel  which  for  months  swept  the  human  earth  in  such  a  deluge 
as  never  before  had  been  sent  in  punishment  upon  the  world.  This 
was  no  adventure  such  as  that  gambling  with  fate  which  in  all  times 
and  in  all  forms  has  stirred  the  spirit  of  man.  Regiment  after 
regiment  marched  down  into  the  maw  of  hell,  into  the  certainty  of 
death.  They  went  forward,  not  to  dare,  but  to  die,  in  that  sub- 
limest  spirit  of  exaltation  and  sacrifice  of  which  humanity  is  cap- 
able, that  the  children  of  France  might  live  free  and  unafraid. 
Frenchmen  in  a  French  land.  They  went  in  regiment  after  regi- 
ment, division  after  division — living  armies  to  replace  the  ghostly 
armies  that  had  held  until  they  died.  Days  without  nights,  weeks 
without  a  breathing  spell — five  months  and  more.  Tliey  lie  there 
now,  the  human  wall  of  France,  that  no  artillery  has  ever  mastered 
or  ever  will,  to  prove  that  greater  than  all  the  imagined  horror  of 
man's  instinct  of  destruction,  undaunted  before  the  new  death  tliat 
rocks  the  eartli  beneath  him  and  pollutes  the  fair  vision  of  the  sky 
above,  the  spirit  of  man  abides  superior.  Death  is  but  a  material 
horror;  the  will  to  live  free  is  the  immortal  thing. 


I 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— STONE    209 
THE  ASSOCIATED  PRESS 

T  IS  worth  while  to  explain  how  the  world's  news  is  gathered 
_  and  furnished  in  a  newspaper  issued  at  one  cent  a  copy.     First, 
as  to  the  foreign  news,  which  is,  of  course,  the  most  difficult  to 
obtain  and  the  most  expensive.     In  normal  times  there  are  the  four 
great  agencies  which,  with  many  smaller  and  tributary  agencies, 
are  covering  the  whole  world.     These  four  agencies  are,  as  above 
noted,  the  Renter  Telegram  Company,  Ltd.,  of  London,  which 
assumes  responsibility  for  the  news  of  the  great  British  Empire, 
including  the  home  land,  every  colony  except  Canada,  and  the 
Suzerain,  or  allied  countries,  as  Egypt,  Turkey,  and  even  China 
and  Japan;  and  the  Agence  Havas  of  Paris,  taking  care  of  the 
Latin  countries,  France,  Italy,  Spain,  Portugal,  Belgium,  Switzer- 
land and  South  America  as  well  as  Northern  Africa;  and  the  Wolff 
Agency  of  Berlin,  reporting  the  happening  in  the  Teutonic,  Scan- 
dinavian, and  Slav  nations.     These  three  organizations  are  allied 
with  The  Associated  Press  in  an  exclusive  exchange  arrangement. 
Subordinate  to  these  agencies  is  a  smaller  one  in  almost  every 
nation,  having  like  exchange  agreements  with  the  larger  com- 
panies. 

Thus  it  happens  that  there  is  not  a  place  of  moment  in  the 
habitable  globe  that  is  not  provided  for.  Moreover,  there  is 
scarcely  a  reporter  on  any  paper  in  the  world  who  does  not,  in  a 
sense,  become  a  representative  of  all  these  four  agencies.  Not 
only  are  there  these  alliances,  but  in  every  important  capital  of 
every  country,  and  in  a  great  many  of  die  other  larger  cities  abroad 
there  are  "A.  P."  men,  trained  by  long  experience  in  its  offices  in 
this  country.  This  is  done  because,  first,  the  organization  is  natur- 
ally  anxious  to  view  every  country  with  American  eyes;  and. 


210  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

second,  because  a  number  of  the  agencies  spoken  of  are  under  the 
influence  of  their  Governments  and,  therefore,  not  always  trust- 
worthy. They  are  relied  upon  for  a  certain  class  of  news,  as  for 
instance,  accidents  by  flood  and  field,  where  there  is  no  reason  for 
any  misrepresentation  on  their  part.  But  where  it  is  a  question 
which  may  involve  national  pride  or  interest,  or  where  there  is  a 
possibility  of  partisanship  or  untruthfulness,  the  "A.  P."  men  are 
trusted. 

Now,  assume  that  a  fire  has  broken  out  in  Benares,  the  sacred 
city  of  the  Hindus,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges,  and  a  hundred  or 
a  thousand  people  have  lost  their  lives.  Not  far  away,  at  Alla- 
habad or  at  Calcutta,  is  a  daily  paper,  having  a  correspondent  at 
Benares,  who  reports  the  disaster  fully.  Some  one  on  this  paper 
sends  the  story,  or  so  much  of  it  as  is  of  general  rather  than  of 
local  interest,  to  the  agent  of  the  Renter  Company  at  Calcutta,  Bom- 
bay, or  Madras;  and  thence  it  is  cabled  to  London  and  Hongkong, 
and  Sydney  and  Tokio.  At  each  of  these  places  there  are  Asso- 
ciated Press  men,  one  of  whom  picks  it  up  and  forwards  it  to  New 
York. 

Thus  the  wide  world  is  combed  for  news,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  is  delivered  and  printed  everywhere.  When  Pope  XHI 
died  in  Rome  the  fact  was  announced  by  an  Associated  Press  des- 
patch in  the  columns  of  a  San  Francisco  paper  in  nine  minutes  from 
the  instant  when  he  breathed  his  last.  And  this  message  was  re- 
peated back  to  London,  Paris,  and  Rome,  and  gave  those  cities  the 
first  information  of  the  event.  When  Port  Arthur  was  taken  by 
the  Japanese  in  the  war  of  1896  it  came  to  us  in  New  York  in  fifty 
minutes,  although  it  passed  through  twenty-seven  relay  offices. 
Few  of  the  operators  transmitting  it  knew  what  the  despatch 
meant.  But  they  understood  the  Latin  letters,  and  sent  it  on  from 
station  to  station,  letter  by  letter. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— STONE    211 

When  Peary  came  back  from  his  great  discovery  in  the  Arctic 
Sea  he  reached  Winter  Harbor,  on  the  coast  of  Labrador,  and 
from  there  sent  me  a  wireless  message  that  he  had  nailed  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  to  the  North  Pole.  This  went  to  Sydney,  on  Cape 
Breton  Island,  and  was  forwarded  dience  by  cable  and  telegraph 

to  New  York. 

The  organization  is  cooperative  in  its  character.  As  a  condition 
of  membership,  each  one  belonging  agrees  to  furnish  to  his  fellow- 
members,  either  directly  or  through  the  Association,  and  to  them 
exclusively,  the  news  of  his  vicinage,  as  gathered  by  him  for  his 
own  paper.  This  constitutes  the  large  fountain  from  which  our 
American  news  supply  is  drawn.  But,  as  in  the  case  of  the  for- 
eign official  agencies,  if  there  be  danger  that  an  individual  member 
is  biassed,  or  if  the  matter  be  one  of  high  importance,  our  own 
trained  and  salaried  staff  men  do  the  reporting.  For  this  purpose, 
as  well  as  for  administrative  work,  there  is  a  bureau  in  every 

leading  city. 

For  the  collection  and  interchange  of  this  information  we  lease 
from  tlie  various  telephone  and  telegraph  companies,  and  operate 
with  our  own  employees,  something  like  fifty  thousand  miles  of 
wires,  stretching  out  in  every  direction  through  the  country  and 
touching  every  important  center.  To  reach  smaller  cities,  the  tele- 
phone is  employed.  Everywhere  in  every  land,  and  every  moment 
of  every  day,  there  is  ceaseless  vigil  for  news. 

People  frequently  ask  what  it  costs  thus  to  collect  the  news  of 
the  world.  And  we  cannot  answer.  Our  annual  budget  is  be- 
tween three  and  four  million  dollars.  But  this  makes  no  account 
of  the  work  done  by  the  iiulividual  papers  all  over  the  world  in 
reporting  the  matters  and  handling  the  news  over  to  the  agencies. 
Neither  can  we  estimate  the  number  of  men  and  women  engaged 
in  this  fashion.     It  is  easy  to  measure  the  cost  of  certain  specific 


212  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

events;  as,  for  instance,  we  expended  twenty-eight  thousand  dol- 
lars to  report  the  Martinique  disaster.  And  the  Russo-Japanese 
war  cost  us  over  three  hundred  tliousand  dollars. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  our  activities  in  what  we  call  normal  times. 
But  these  are  not  normal  times.  When  the  great  European  war 
broke  on  us,  eighteen  months  ago,  all  of  the  processes  of  civiliza- 
tion seemed  to  go  down  in  an  hour.  And  we  sufifered  in  common 
with  others.  Our  international  relations  for  the  exchange  of  news 
were  instantly  dislocated.  We  had  been  able  to  impress  the  gov- 
ernments abroad  with  the  value  of  an  impartial  and  unpurchasable 
news  service,  as  opposed  to  the  venal  type  of  journalism,  which  was 
too  common  on  the  European  continent.  And  in  our  behalf  they 
had  abolished  their  censorships.  They  had  accorded  us  rules 
assuring  us  great  rapidity  in  the  transmission  of  our  messages 
over  their  government  telegraph  lines.  They  had  opened  the  doors 
of  their  chancelleries  to  our  correspondents,  and  told  them  freely 
the  news  as  it  developed. 

All  the  advantages  ceased.  The  German  news  agency  was  pro- 
hibited from  holding  any  intercourse  with  the  English,  French,  or 
Russian  organizations.  Simultaneously,  like  commerce  was  inter- 
dicted in  the  other  countries.  The  virtue  of  impartial  news-gather- 
ing at  once  ceased  to  be  quoted  at  par.  Everywhere,  in  all  of  the 
warring  lands  the  Biblical  rule  that  "he  that  is  not  with  me  is 
against  me,"  became  the  controlling  view.  Government  telegrams 
were  obviously  very  important  and  there  was  no  time  to  consider 
anywhere  any  of  the  promised  speed  in  sending  our  despatches. 
Finally,  censorships  were  imposed.  This  was  quite  proper  in  prin- 
ciple. Censorships  are  always  necessary  in  time  of  war.  But  it 
is  desirable,  from  every  point  of  view,  that  they  be  intelligent, 
and  this  is  not  always  the  case. 

Nevertheless,  we  have  fared  pretty  well  in  die  business  of  re- 


DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

rviii.-i;  as,  for  iiK->LjN. ..  V.  t'xpended  twenty-eight  thousand  dol- 
lars to  report  the  Martinique  disaster.  And  the  Rn-s. i-Lin  n.»>f- 
war  cost  us  over  three  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  our  activities  in  what  we  call  normal  times. 
But  these  are  not  normal  times.  When  the  great  European  war 
broke  on  us,  eighteen  months  ago,  all  of  tlie  processes  of  civiliza- 
tion seemed  to  go  down  in  an  houj.  And  w«  ■"  1  in  common 
with  others.     Our  inteniatioual  iclati«tn»  tor  iji  •"•>'"  of  news 

were  instantly  dislocated.     We  had  been  abl«*  to  ■  the  gov- 

ernments abroad  with  the  value  of  an  impartial  and  iinpurchasable 
news  service,  as  opposed  to  the  venal  type  of  joumniiim,  which  was 
too  common  on  the  European  continent.  And  in  our  behalf  they 
had  abolished  their  censorships.  ITiey  had  accorded  us  rules 
assuring  us  great  rapidity  in  the  transmission  of  our  r  -  - 

over  their  goverQg^g^;t9j!figg^ip<^  A^kwk^Pmg'^''*^  ' - 

of  their  chancelleries  to  our  correspondentb,  and  loid  Jicm  freely 
the  news  as  it  developed. 

All  the  advantages  ceased.  The  German  news  agency  was  pro- 
hibited from  holding  any  intercourse  with  the  English,  French,  or 
Russian  organizations.  Simultaneously,  like  commerce  was  inter- 
dicted in  the  other  countries.  Tlie  virtue  of  impartial  news-gather- 
ing at  once  ceased  to  be  quoted  at  par.  Everywhere,  in  all  of  the 
warring  lands  the  Biblical  rule  that  "he  that  i^  not  with  me  is 
against  me,"  became  the  conh  '.ms 

were  obviously  very  important  ai 

anywhere  any  of  the  promised  speed  m  .ui  despatches. 

Finally,  censorships  were  imposed.  This  >vas  qmie  proper  in  prin- 
ciple. Censorships  are  always  necessary  in  time  of  war.  But  it 
is  desirable,  from  every  point  of  view,  that  they  be  intelligent, 
and  this  is  not  always  the  case. 

Nevertheless,  we  have  fared  pretty  well  in  the  business  of  re- 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA—STONE    213 

porting  this  war.  We  have  made  distinct  progress  in  teaching  the 
belligerents  that  we  hold  no  brief  for  any  one  of  them,  and,  while 
each  would  much  rather  have  us  plead  his  cause,  they  are  coming 
to  see  why  we  camiot  and  ought  not  to  do  so.  And  our  men  are 
everywhere  respected  and  accorded  as  large  privileges  as,  per- 
haps, in  the  light  of  the  tension  of  the  hour,  could  be  reasonably 
asked. 


214  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


PAN  AND  THE  POT-HUNTER 

THEY  are  not  many  who  are  privileged  to  leam  that  the  forces 
of  the  Wilderness  are  as  gods,  distributing  benefits,  and, 
from  such  as  have  earned  them,  taking  even  handed  reprisals. 
Only  the  Greeks  of  all  peoples  realized  this  in  its  entirety,  and 
tliem  the  gods  repaid  with  the  pure  joy  of  creation  which  is  the 
special  prerogative  of  gods. 

But  Greenhow  had  heard  nothing  of  Greeks  save  as  a  symbol  of 
all  unintelligibility,  and  of  the  gods  not  at  all.  His  stock  was  out 
of  England  by  way  of  the  Tennessee  mountains,  drifting  Pacific 
coastward  after  the  war  of  the  Rebellion,  and  he  was  a  Pot  Hunter 
by  occasion  and  inclination.  The  occasion  he  owned  to  being  bom 
in  one  of  the  bays  of  the  southerly  Sierras  where  the  plenitude  of 
wild  life  reduced  pot  hunting  to  the  degree  of  easy  murder, 

A  Pot  Hunter,  you  understand,  is  a  business  man.  He  is  out  for 
what  he  can  get,  and  regards  game  laws  as  an  interference  with 
the  healthful  interactions  of  competition.  Greenhow  potted  quail 
in  the  Temblors  where  by  simply  rolling  out  of  his  blanket  he 
could  bag  two  score  at  a  shot  as  they  flocked,  sleek  and  slatey  blue, 
down  the  runways  to  the  drinking  places.  He  took  pronghom  at 
Castac  with  a  repeating  rifle  and  a  lure  of  his  red  necktie  held  aloft 
on  a  cleaning  rod,  and  packed  them  four  to  a  mule-back  down  the 
Tejon  to  Summerfield.  He  shot  farrow  does  and  fished  out  of 
season,  and  had  never  heard  of  the  sportsmanly  obligation  to  throw 
back  the  fingerlings.  Anything  that  made  gunning  worth  while 
to  the  man  who  came  after  you  was,  by  Greenhow's  reckoning,  a 
menace  to  pot  hunting. 

There  were  Indians  in  those  parts  who  could  have  told  him  bet- 
ter— notable  hunters  who  never  shot  swimming  deer  nor  does  with 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— AUSTIN    215 

fawn,  nor  any  game  unaware;  who  prayed  permission  of  the  Wuld 
before  they  went  to  hunt,  and  left  offal  for  their  little  brothers  of 
the  Wilderness.  Indians  know.  But  Greenhow,  being  a  business 
man,  opined  that  Indians  were  improvident,  and  not  being  even 
good  at  his  business,  fouled  the  waters  where  he  camped,  left  man 
traces  in  his  trails  and  neglected  to  put  out  his  fires  properly. 

Whole  hillsides  where  the  deer  had  browsed  were  burnt  off  bare 
as  your  hand  in  the  wake  of  the  pot  hunter.  Thus  in  due  course, 
though  Greenhow  laid  it  to  Uie  increasing  severity  of  game  laws 
framed  in  the  interests  of  city  sportsmen,  who  preferred  workmg 
hard  for  their  venison  to  buying  it  comfortably  in  the  open  market, 
pot  hunting  grew  so  little  profitable  that  he  determined  to  leave  it 
off  altogether  and  become  a  Settler.  Not  however  until  he  had 
earned  the  reprisal  of  the  gods,  of  whom  in  a  dozen  years  he  had 
not  even  become  aware. 

In  the  Spring  of  the  year  the  Tonkawanda  irrigation  district  was 
opened,  he  settled  himself  on  a  spur  of  San  Jacinto  where  it  plunges 
like  a  dolphin  in  the  green  swell  of  the  camissal,  and  throws  up  a 
lacy  foam  of  chaparral  along  its  sides.  Below  him,  dotted  over 
the  flat  reach  of  the  mesa,  the  four  square  clearings  of  the  Home- 
steaders showed  along  the  line  of  the  great  canal,  keen  and  blue 
as  the  cutting  edge  of  civilization.  There  was  a  deep-soil  level 
under  the  nose  of  San  Jacinto— rabbits  used  to  play  there  until 
Greenhow  took  to  potting  them  for  his  breakfast— and  a  stream 
bubbled  from  under  the  hill  to  waste  in  the  meadow. 

Greenhow  built  a  shack  under  a  live  oak  there  and  fancied  him- 
self in  the  character  of  proprietor.  He  reckoned  that  in  the  three 
years  before  his  vineyard  came  into  bearing,  he  could  pot-hunt  in 
the  hills  behind  his  clearing  for  the  benefit  of  the  Homesteaders. 

It  was  altogether  a  lovely  habitation.  Camise  grew  flush  with 
the  meadow  and  the  flanks  of  San  Jacinto  shivered  and  sparkled 


216     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

with  the  wind  that  turned  the  thousand  leaves  of  the  chaparral. 
Under  the  wind  one  caught  at  times  the  slow  deep  chuckle  of  the 
water.  Greenliow  should  have  heen  warned  by  that.  In  just  such 
tones  the  ancient  Greeks  had  heard  the  great  god  Pan  laughing  in 
the  woods  under  Parnassus, — which  was  Greek  indeed  to  the  Pot 
Hunter. 

Greenhow  was  thirty-four  when  he  took  out  his  preemption 
papers  and  planted  his  first  acre  of  vines.  For  reasons  best  known 
to  die  gods,  the  deer  kept  well  away  from  that  side  of  San  Jacinto 
tliat  year.  Greenhow  enlarged  tlie  meadow  and  turned  up  ground 
for  a  garden;  he  became  acquainted  with  his  neighbors  and  learned 
that  they  had  prejudices  in  favor  of  game  regulations,  also  that 
one  of  them  had  a  daughter.  She  had  white,  even  teeth  that  flashed 
when  she  laughed;  the  whole  eff^ect  of  her  was  as  sound  and  as 
appetizing  as  a  piece  of  ripe  fruit.  Greenhow  told  her  diat  the 
prospect  of  having  a  home  of  his  own  was  an  incentive  such  as  pot- 
hunting  held  out  to  no  man.  He  looked  as  he  said  it,  a  very 
brother  to  Nimrod,  for  as  yet  the  Pot  had  not  marked  him. 

He  stood  straight;  his  eyes  had  the  deep,  varying  blueness  of 
lake  water.  Little  wisps  and  burrs,  odors  of  the  forest  clung  about 
his  clothing;  a  beard  covered  his  slack,  formless  mouth.  When 
he  told  the  Homesteader's  daughter  how  the  stars  went  by  on 
heather  planted  headlands  and  how  the  bucks  belled  the  does  at 
the  bottom  of  deep  canons  in  October,  she  heard  in  it  the  call  of  tlie 
trail  and  young  Adventure.  Times  when  she  would  see  from  the 
level  of  her  father's  quarter  section  the  smoke  of  the  Pot  Hunter's 
cabin  rising  blue  against  the  glistening  green  of  the  live  oak,  she 
thought  that  life  might  have  a  wilder,  sweeter  tang  there  about  the 
roots  of  the  mountain. 

In  his  second  Spring  when  the  camissal  foamed  all  white  with 
bloom  and  the  welter  of  yellow  violets  ran  in  the  grass  under  it 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— AUSTIN    217 

like  fire,  Greenhow  built  a  leanto  to  his  house  and  made  the  dis- 
covery that  the  oak  which  jutted  out  from  the  barranca  behind  it, 
was  of  just  the  right  height  from  the  ground  to  make  a  swing  for  a 
child,  which  caused  him  a  strange  pleasant  embarrassment. 

"Look  kind  o'  nice  to  see  a  little  feller  playin'  round,"  he  ad- 
mitted  to  himself,  and  the  same  evening  went  down  to  call  on  the 
Homesteader's  daughter. 

That  night  the  watchful  guardians  of  die  Wild  sent  the  mule- 
deer  to  harry  the  man  who  had  been  a  pot-hunter.     A  buck  of  diree 
years  came  do^vn  the  draw  by  the  watercourse  and  nibbled  the 
young  shoots  of  tlie  vines  where  he  could  reach  them  across  the 
rabbit  proof  fencing  that  the  settler  had  drawn  about  his  planted 
acres.     Not  diat  the  wire  netting  would  have  stopped  him;  this 
was  merely  the  opening  of  the  game.     Three  days  later  he  spent 
the  night  in  the  kitchen  garden  and  cropped  tlie  tips  of  the  newly 
planted  orchard.     After  that  the  two  of  them  put  in  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  growing  season  dodging  one  anodier  through  die  close 
twigged  manzanita,  lilac,  laurel  and  mahogany  that  broke  upward 
along  the  shining  bouldered  coasts  of  San  Jacinto.     The  chaparral 
at  diis  season  took  all  the  changes  of  the  incoming  surf,  blue  in  the 
shadows,  darkling  green  about  die  heads  of  the  gulches,  or  riffling 
with  the  white  under  side  of  wind-lifted  leaves.     Once  its  mur- 
murous swell  had  closed  over  them,  the  mule-deer  would  have  his 
own  way  with  the  Pot  Hunter.     Often  after  laborious  hours  spent 
in  repairing  the  garden,  the  man  would  hear  his  enemy  coughing 
in  die  gully  behind  the  house,  and  take  up  his  rifle  to  put  in  the 
rest  of  the  day  snaking  through  the  breathless  fifteen  foot  cover, 
only  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the  buck  at  last  dashing  back  die  late  light 
from  glittering  antlers  as  he  bounded  up  inaccessible  rocky  stairs. 
This  was  the  more  exasperating  since  Greenhow  had  promised 
the  antlers  to  the  Homesteader's  daughter. 


218     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

When  the  surface  of  the  camissal  had  taken  on  the  brown  tones 
of  weed  under  sea  water  and  the  young  clusters  of  die  grapes  were 
set — for  this  was  the  year  the  vineyard  was  expected  to  come  into 
bearing — the  mule-deer  disappeared  altogether  from  that  district, 
and  Greenhow  went  back  hopefully  to  rooting  the  joint  grass  out 
of  the  garden.  But  about  the  time  he  should  have  been  rubbing 
the  velvet  off  his  horns  among  the  junipers  of  die  high  ridges,  the 
mule-deer  came  back  with  two  of  his  companions  and  fattened  on 
the  fruit  of  the  vineyard.  They  went  up  and  down  the  rows  ruin- 
ing with  selective  bites  the  finest  clusters.  During  the  day  they 
lay  up  like  cattle  imder  the  quaking  aspens  beyond  the  highest, 
wind-whitened  spray  of  tlie  chaparral,  and  came  down  to  feast  day 
by  day  as  the  sun  ripened  the  swelling  amber  globules.  They 
slipped  between  tlie  barbs  of  the  fine  wired  fence  without  so  much 
as  changing  a  leg  or  altering  their  long,  loping  stride;  and  what 
they  left  the  quail  took. 

In  pattering  droves  of  hundreds  tliey  trecked  in  from  the  camise 
before  there  was  light  enough  to  shoot  by,  and  nipped  once  and 
with  precision  at  the  ripest  in  every  bunch.  Afterward  they  dusted 
themselves  in  the  chaparral  and  twitted  the  proprietor  with  soft 
contented  noises.  At  the  end  of  the  October  rut  tlie  deer  came  back 
plentifully  to  the  Tonkawanda  District,  and  Greenhow  gave  up  the 
greater  part  of  the  rainy  season  to  auditing  his  account  with  diem. 
He  spent  whole  days  scanning  the  winter  colored  slope  for  the 
flicker  and  slide  of  light  on  a  hairy  flank  that  betrayed  his  enemy, 
or,  rifle  in  hand,  stalking  a  patch  of  choke  cherry  and  manzanita 
within  which  the  mule-deer  could  snake  and  crawl  for  hours  by 
intricacies  of  doubling  and  back  tracking  that  yielded  not  a  square 
inch  of  target  and  no  more  than  the  dust  of  his  final  disappearance. 
Wood  gatherers  heard  at  times  above  Uieir  heads  the  discontented 
whine  of  deflected  bullets.     Windy  mornings  the  quarry  would 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— AUSTIN    219 

signal  from  the  high  barrens  by  slow  stiflf  legged  bounds  that 
seemed  to  invite  the  Pot  Hunter's  fire,  and  at  the  end  of  a  day's 
tracking  among  tlie  punishing  stubs  of  the  burnt  district,  Green- 
how  returning  would  hear  the  whistling  cough  of  the  mule-deer  in 
tlie  ravine  not  a  rifle  shot  from  the  house. 

In  the  meantime  rabbits  burrowed  under  the  wire  netting  to 
bark  his  young  trees,  and  an  orchardist  who  held  the  job  of  ditch 
tender  along  the  Tonkawanda,  began  to  take  an  interest  in  the 
Homesteader's  daughter.  Seldom  any  smoke  went  up  now  from 
the  cabin  under  the  dolphin's  nose.  Occasionally  there  rose  a 
blue  thread  of  it  far  up  on  the  thinly  forested  crest  of  San  Jacinto 
where  the  buck,  bedded  in  the  low  brush  between  the  bosses  of  the 
hills,  kept  a  look  out  across  the  gullies  from  which  Greenhow  at- 
tempted to  ambuscade  him.  Day  by  day  the  man  would  vary  the 
method  of  approach  until  almost  within  rifle  range,  and  tlien  the 
wind  would  change  or  there  would  be  the  click  of  gravel  miderfoot, 
or  the  scrape  of  a  twig  on  stiflf  overalls,  and  suddenly  the  long  oval 
ears  would  slope  forward,  the  angular  lines  flow  into  grace  and  mo- 
tion and  the  game  would  begin  again. 

Greenhow  killed  many  deer  that  season  and  got  himself  under 
suspicion  of  the  game  warden,  but  never  the  deer;  and  a  very  subtle 
change  came  over  him,  such  a  change  as  marks  the  point  at  which 
a  man  leaves  off  being  hunter  to  become  the  hunted.  He  began  to 
sense,  with  vague  reactions  of  resentment,  the  personality  of  Power. 
It  was  about  the  end  of  the  rains  that  the  ditch  tender  who  was 
also  an  orchardist,  took  the  Homesteader's  daughter  to  ride  on  his 
unoccupied  Sunday  afternoon.  He  had  something  to  say  to  her 
which  demanded  the  wide,  uninterrupted  space  of  day.  They 
went  up  toward  the  roots  of  the  mountain  between  the  green  dikes 
of  the  chaparral,  and  he  was  so  occupied  with  watching  the  pome- 
granite  color  of  her  cheeks  and  the  nape  of  her  neck  where  the  sun 


220     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

touched  it,  that  he  failed  to  observe  that  it  was  she  who  turned  the 
horses  into  the  trail  that  led  off  the  main  road  toward  the  shack  of 
the  Pot  Hunter.  The  same  change  that  had  come  over  the  man 
had  fallen  on  his  habitation.  Through  the  uncurtained  window 
they  saw  the  heaps  of  unwashed  dishes  and  the  rusty  stove,  and 
along  the  eaves  of  the  leanto,  a  row  of  antlers  bleaching. 

"There's  really  no  hope  for  a  man,"  said  the  ditch  tender,  "once 
he  gets  that  habit.     It's  worse  than  drink." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  Homesteader's  daughter,  "if  he  had  had 
any  one  at  home  who  cared  ..."  She  was  looking  down  at  the 
bindweed  that  had  crept  about  the  roots  of  a  banksia  rose  she  had 
once  given  the  Pot  Hunter  out  of  her  own  garden,  and  she  sighed, 
but  the  ditch  tender  did  not  notice  that  either.  He  was  thinking 
this  was  so  good  an  opportunity  for  what  he  had  to  say  that  he  drew 
the  horses  toward  the  end  of  the  meadow  where  the  stream  came  in, 
and  explained  to  her  particularly  just  what  it  meant  to  a  man  to 
have  somebody  at  home  who  cared. 

The  Homesteader's  daughter  leaned  against  the  oak  as  she  lis- 
tened, and  lifted  up  her  clear  eyes  witli  a  light  in  them  that  was  like 
a  flash  out  of  the  deep,  luminous  eye  of  day,  which  caused  the  ditch 
tender  the  greatest  possible  satisfaction.  He  did  not  think  it 
strange,  immediately  he  had  her  answer,  to  hear  the  titter  of  the 
leaves  of  the  lilac  and  the  sudden  throaty  chuckle  of  the  water. 

"I  am  so  happy,"  laughed  the  ditch  tender,  "that  I  fancy  the 
whole  world  is  laughing  with  me." 

All  this  was  not  so  long  ago  as  you  would  imagine  to  look  at  the 
Pot  Hunter.  As  time  went  on  the  marking  of  the  Pot  came  out  on 
him  very  plainly.  He  acquired  the  shifty,  sideling  gait  of  the 
meaner  sort  of  predatory  creatures.  His  clothes,  his  beard,  his 
very  features  have  much  the  appearance  that  his  house  has,  as  if 


^sKuai  aa  nmaYUoa 


DEFENDERS  OF  DFMnrRACY 

:,  that  he.  failed  lo  observe  that  it  was  she  who  turned  die 
L.f-i .-  mo  die  trad  that  led  off  the  main  road  toward  the  sfiack  of 
th»^  Pot  Hunter.  The  same  change  that  had  come  over  the  man 
had  fallen  on  his  habitation.  Through  the  imcurtained  window 
they  saw  the  heaps  of  unwashed  dishes  and  the  rusty  stove,  amd 
along  the  eaves  of  the  leanto,  a  ruw  of  antlers  bleaching. 

"There's  really  no  hope  for  a  man,"  >au\  the  ditch  tender,  "once 
\\e  t',(i\.s  that  hahit.     It's  worse  iha 

"Perhaps,"  said  die  Homesteau.  i  ^  ■.>..  ''  lie  had  had 

any  one  at  home  who  cared  ..."     She  .  down  at  the 

bindweed  that  had  crept  about  die  roots  of  a  banksia  rose  she  had 
once  given  the  Pot  f  lunter  out  ol  ht-r  owngarden,  and  she  sighed, 
but  die  diich  lend.?QWSN|]^   ElE,  jgtJNE^E,-«,  ihi„king 

this  was  80  good  an  oppolffiSi^  \  l^s^^H'^^'  -  *^I^  say  that  he  drew 


the  horses  toward  the  end  oTlKeiiie^  Jow^nere  the  stream  came  in, 
and  explained  to  her  particularly  just  what  it  meant  '•■  •  ^  i  '■> 
have  somebody  at  home  who  cared. 

Tlie  Homesteader's  daughter  leaned  against  the  oak  as  she  lis- 
tened, and  lifted  up  her  clear  eyes  with  a  light  in  them  that  was  like 
a  flash  out  of  the  de-fp,  luminous  eye  of  day,  which  caused  the  ditch 
tender  the  gi  '     satisfaction.     He  did  not  think  it 

strange,  imm-  '    '•  ■^"-■v.-r   --^  ■•'  •»  <'■'    >  fi'r  ..f  the 

leaves  of  the 

"I  am  so  happy,"  laughed  the  ditch  tender,  "that  I  fancy  the 
whole  world  is  laughing  with  me." 

All  this  was  not  so  long  ago  as  you  would  unagine  to  look  at  the 

Pot  Hunter.     As  time  went  on  the  marking  of  the  Pol  came  out  on 

l.'.n  very  plainly.     He  acquired  the  shifty,  sideling  gait  of  the 

ler  sort  of  predatory  creatures.     His  clothes,  his  beard,  hJ? 

features  have  nmch  the  appearance  that  his  house  has,  as  il 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— AUSTIN    221 

the  owner  of  it  were  distant  on  another  occupation,  and  the  camise 
has  regained  a  considerable  portion  of  his  clearing.  Owing  to  the 
vigilance  of  the  game  warden  his  is  not  a  profitable  business;  also 
he  is  in  disfavor  with  the  homesteaders  along  the  Tonkawanda  who 
credit  him  with  the  disappearance  of  the  mule-deer,  once  plentiful 
in  that  district.  A  solitary  specimen  is  occasionally  met  by  sports- 
men along  the  back  of  San  Jacinto,  exceedingly  gun  wary.  But  if 
Greenhow  had  known  a  little  more  about  the  Greeks  it  might  all 
have  turned  out  quite  differently. 


222  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

MEN  OF  THE  SEA 

THE  afternoon  sun  etched  our  shadows  on  the  whitewashed  wall 
behind  us.  Acres  of  grain  and  gorse  turned  the  moorland 
golden  under  a  windy  blue  sky.  In  front  of  us  the  Bay  of  Biscay 
burned  sapphire  to  the  horizon. 

"You  men  of  the  sea,"  I  said,  "attain  a  greater  growth  of  soul 
than  do  we  whose  roots  are  in  the  land.  You  are  men  of  wider 
spiritual  vision,  of  deeper  capacity  than  are  we." 

The  coastguard's  weatherbeaten  visage  altered  subtly. 

"How  can  that  be.  Monsieur?  Our  sins  stalk  us  like  vast  red 
shadows.     We  live  violently,  we  men  of  the  sea." 

"But  you  really  live — spiritually  and  physically.  You  attain  a 
spiritual  growth,  a  vision,  an  understanding,  a  deptli  seldom 
reached  by  us: — a  wide  kindness,  a  charity,  a  noble  humanity 
outside  the  circumference  of  our  experience." 

He  said,  looking  seaward  out  of  vague,  sea-gray  eyes:  "We 
drink  too  deeply.  We  love  too  often.  We  men  of  the  sea  have 
great  need  of  intercession  and  of  prayer." 

"Not  you." 

"There  was  a  girl  at  Rosporden.  .  .  .  And  one  at  Bannalec. 
.  .  .  And  others  .  .  .  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  the  ends  of  it 
.  .  .  We  Icelanders  drank  deep.  And  afterwards  ...  in  the 
China  seas.  .  .  ." 

His  gray  Breton  eyes  brooded  on  the  flowing  sapphire  of  the  sea; 
the  low  sun  painted  his  furrowed  face  red. 

"Not  one  among  you  but  lays  down  his  life  for  others  as 
quietly  and  simply  as  he  fills  his  pipe.  From  the  rocking  mizzen 
you  look  down  calmly  upon  the  world  of  men  tossing  witli  petty 
and  complex  passions — look  down  with  the  calm,  kindly  compre- 


VISITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— CHAMBERS    223 

hension  of  a  mature  soul  which  has  learned  something  of  Immortal 
toleration.  The  scheme  of  things  is  clearer  to  you  than  to  us; 
your  pity,  wiser;  your  faith  more  logical." 

"We  are  children,"  he  muttered,  "we  men  of  the  sea." 

"I  have  tried  to  say  so — in  too  many  words,"  said  I. 

My  dog  looked  up  at  me,  then  with  a  slight  sigh  settled  himself 
again  beside  the  gamebag  and  tucked  his  nose  under  his  flank. 
On  the  whitewashed  walls  of  the  ancient,  ruined  fort  behind  us  our 
shadows  towered  in  the  red  sunset. 

I  turned  and  looked  at  the  roofless,  crumbling  walls,  then  at  the 
coast  where  jeweled  surf  tumbled,  stained  with  crimson. 

These  shores  had  been  washed  with  a  redder  stain  in  years 
gone  by:  tliese  people  were  forever  stamped  with  the  irradicable 
scar  of  suff"ering  borne  by  generations  dead.  The  centuries  had 
never  spared  them. 

And,  as  I  brooded  there,  watching  two  peasants,  father  and  son, 
grubbing  out  the  gorse  below  us  to  make  a  place  for  future  wheat, 
the  rosy  surf  beyond  seemed  full  of  little  rosy  children  and 
showy  women,  species  of  the  endless  massacres  that  this  sad  land 
had  endlessly  endured. 

"They  struck  you  hard  and  deep,"  I  said,  thinking  of  the  past. 

"Deep,  Monsieur,"  he  replied,  understanding  me.  "Deep  as 
your  people's  hatred." 

"Oh,  pour  ga" — he  made  a  vague  gesture.  "The  dead  are 
dead,"  he  said,  leaning  over  and  opening  my  gamebag  to  look  into 
it  and  sort  and  count  the  few  braces  of  partridge,  snipe  and 
widgeon. 

Presently,  from  below,  the  peasants  at  work  in  the  gorse,  shouted 
up  to  us  something  that  I  did  not  understand. 

They  were  standing  close  together,  leaning  on  mattock  and  spade, 
grouped  around  somelliing  in  the  gorse. 


224     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"What  do  they  say?"  I  asked. 

"They  have  found  a  soldier's  body." 

"A  body?" 

"Long  dead.  Monsieur.  The  skeleton  of  one  of  these  who 
scourged  this  coast  in  the  old  days." 

He  rose  and  started  leisurely  down  through  the  flowering  gorse. 
I  followed,  and  my  dog  followed  me. 

In  the  shallow  excavation  there  lay  a  few  bones  and  shreds  and 
bits  of  tarnished  metal. 

I  stooped  and  picked  up  a  button  and  a  belt  buckle.  The  royal 
arms  and  the  Regimental  number  were  decipherable  on  the 
brasses.     One  of  the  peasants  said: 

"In  Quimper  lives  a  rich  man  who  pays  for  relics.  God,  in  his 
compassion,  sends  us  poor  men  these  bones." 

The  coastguard  said :  "God  sends  them  to  you  for  decent  inter- 
ment.    Not  to  sell." 

"But,"  retorted  the  peasant,  "these  bones  and  bits  of  brass  be- 
longed to  one  of  those  who  came  here  with  fire  and  sword.  Need 
we  respect  our  enemies  who  slew  without  pity  young  and  old?  And 
these  bones  are  very  ancient." 

"The  living  must  respect  the  dead,  Jean  Le  Locard." 

"I  am  poor,"  muttered  Le  Locard.  "We  Bretons  are  bom  to 
misery  and  sorrow.  Life  is  very  hard.  Is  it  any  harm  if  I  sell 
these  bones  and  brasses  to  a  rich  man,  and  buy  a  little  bread  for 
my  wife  and  little  ones?" 

The  coastguard  shook  his  head  gravely:  "We  Bretons  may  go 
hungry  and  naked,  but  we  cannot  traffic  in  death.  Here  lies  a  sol- 
dier, a  hundred  years  hidden  under  the  gorse.     Nevertheless — " 

He  touched  his  cap  in  salute.  Slowly  the  peasants  lifted  their 
caps  and  stood  staring  down  at  the  bones,  uncovered. 

"Make  a  grave,"  said  the  coastguard  simply.     He  pointed  up  at 


DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY, 

"What  do  tliey  say?"  I  asked. 

"They  Lave  found  a  soldier's  body." 

'A  body?" 

"Long  dead,  Monsieur.  The  skeleton  of  one  of  tJ)t-?e  who 
scourged  this  coast  in  the  old  days.' 

He  rose  and  started  leisurely  dovn  through  the  flowering  gorse. 
I  followed,  and  my  dog  follow 

In  the  shallow  excavation  th«r.r  K,  v  d  Irw  bones  and  shreds  and 
bits  of  tarnished  metal. 

I  stooped  and  picked  up  a  button  and  a  belt  K-.  Vl^  The  royal 
arms  and   the   Regimental   immbf-r   worr   d-  le   on   the 

brasses.     One  of  the  peasants  said: 

"In  (^CE?S.tDMHTiefe.  Wfrnl^PWI'^^WT^EN  ^^f  MS'''  ^'^ 
compassion,  sends  us  poor  men  these  bones." 

Tlif  '.rd  skttt:_;^^*Cb^<A^«!M^^f(H^<^  for  .1.  ot-nl  ;nu;r. 

ment.      \..i  i-.  .-,ell."  ^2/^^       ;&y-/     J-/'' 

"But,"  retorted  the  peasant,  ^nesebones  and  bits  of  brsiss  be- 
longed to  one  of  those  who  came  here  with  fire  and  gvrord.  Need 
we  respect  our  enemies  who  slew  without  pity  young  and  old?  And 
these  bones  are  very  ancient." 

"The  living  must  respect  the  dead,  Jean  Le  Locard." 

"I  am  poor,"  muttered  Le  Locard.     "Wc  Bretons  are  bom  to 
misery  and  sorrow.     Life  is  vers  hard.     If  it  any  li^nn  if  T  sell 
these  bones  and  brasses  to  a  rich  man,  and  buy  a 
my  wife  and  little  ones?" 

The  coastguard  shook  his  head  gravely:  "We  Bretons  may  go 
himgry  and  naked,  but  we  cannot  traffic  in  death.  Here  lies  a  sol- 
dier, a  hundred  years  hidden  under  the  gorse.     Nevertheless — " 

He  touched  his  cap  in  salute.  Slowly  the  peasants  lifted  their 
caps  and  stood  staring  down  at  the  bones,  uncovered. 

"Make  a  grave,"  said  the  coastguard  simply.     He  pointed  up  at 


VISITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— CHAMBERS    225 

die  old  graveyard  on  the  cliff  above  us.  Then,  touching  my  elbow, 
he  turned  away  witli  me  toward  the  little  hamlet  across  tlie  moors. 

"Let  us  find  tlie  Cure,"  he  murmured.  "We  men  of  the  sea 
should  salute  the  death  God  sends  with  the  respect  we  owe  to  all 
His  gifts  to  man." 

Our  three  gigantic  shadows  led  us  back  across  the  moor, — my 
dog,  myself,  and  the  gray-eyed  silent  man  who  knew  the  sea, — and 
something  perhaps,  of  the  sea's  Creator: — and  much  of  his  fellow 
men. 


226  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

JIM— A  SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING 

t  Y  / 1  WERE  machine  gunners  of  the  British  Army  stationed 
W  "Somewhere  in  France"  and  had  just  arrived  at  our  rest 
billets,  after  a  weary  march  from  the  front  line  sector. 

The  stable  we  had  to  sleep  in  was  an  old,  ramshackle  affair, 
absolutely  over-run  with  rats.  Great,  big,  black  fellows,  who  used 
to  chew  up  our  leather  equipment,  eat  our  rations,  and  run  over 
our  bodies  at  night.  German  gas  had  no  effect  on  these  rodents; 
in  fact,  they  seemed  to  thrive  on  it. 

The  floor  space  would  comfortably  accommodate  about  twenty 
men  lying  down,  but  when  thirty-three,  including  equipment,  were 
crowded  into  it,  it  was  nearly  unbearable. 

Tlie  roof  and  walls  were  full  of  shell  holes.  When  it  rained, 
a  constant  drip,  drip,  drip  was  in  order.  We  were  so  crowded 
that  if  a  fellow  was  unlucky  enough  (and  nearly  all  of  us  in  this 
instance  were  unlucky)  to  sleep  under  a  hole,  he  had  to  grin  and 
bear  it.     It  was  like  sleeping  beneath  a  shower  bath. 

At  one  end  of  the  billet,  with  a  ladder  leading  up  to  it,  was  a 
sort  of  grain  bin,  with  a  door  in  it.  This  place  was  the  head- 
quarters of  our  guests,  the  rats.  Many  a  stormy  cabinet  meeting 
was  held  there  by  them.  Many  a  boot  was  thrown  at  it  during  the 
night  to  let  them  know  that  Tommy  Atkins  objected  to  the  matter 
under  discussion.  Sometimes  one  of  these  missiles  would  ricochet, 
and  land  on  the  upturned  countenance  of  a  snoring  Tommy,  and  for 
about  half  an  hour  even  the  rats  would  pause  in  admiration  of  his 
flow  of  language. 

On  the  night  in  question  we  flopped  down  in  our  wet  clothes, 
and  were  soon  asleep.  As  was  usual,  No.  2  gun's  crew  were  to- 
gether. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— EMPEY    227 

The  last  time  we  had  rested  in  this  particular  village,  it  was 
inhabited  by  civilians,  but  now  was  deserted.  An  order  had  been 
issued,  two  days  previous  to  our  arrival,  that  all  civilians  should 
move  farther  back  of  the  line. 

I  had  been  asleep  about  two  hours  when  I  was  awakened  by 
Sailor  Bill  shaking  me  by  the  shoulder.  He  was  trembling  like  a 
leaf,  and  whispered  to  me: 

"Wake  up,  Yank,  this  ship's  haunted.  There's  some  one  aloft 
who's  been  moaning  for  the  last  hour.  Sounds  like  the  wind  in 
the  rigging.  I  ain't  scared  of  humans  or  Germans,  but  when  it 
comes  to  messin'  in  with  spirits  it's  time  for  me  to  go  below.  Lend 
your  ear  and  cast  your  deadlights  on  that  grain  locker,  and  listen." 

I  listened  sleepily  for  a  minute  or  so,  but  could  hear  nothing. 
Coming  to  the  conclusion  that  Sailor  Bill  was  dreaming  things,  I 
was  again  soon  asleep. 

Perhaps  fifteen  minutes  had  elapsed  when  I  was  rudely 
awakened. 

"Yank,  for  God's  sake,  come  aboard  and  listen!"  I  listened, 
and  sure  enough,  right  out  of  that  grain  bin  overhead  came  a 
moaning  and  whimpering,  and  then  a  scratching  against  the  door. 
My  hair  stood  on  end.  Blended  with  the  drip,  drip  of  the  rain,  and 
the  occasional  scurrying  of  a  rat  overhead,  that  noise  had  a  super- 
natural sound.  I  was  really  frightened;  perhaps  my  nerves  were  a 
trifle  unstrung  from  our  recent  tour  in  the  trenches. 

I  awakened  "Ikey"  Honney,  while  Sailor  Bill  roused  "Happy" 
Houghton  and  "Hungry"  Foxcroft. 

Hungry's  first  words  were,  "What's  the  matter,  breakfast  ready?" 

In  as  few  words  as  possible,  we  told  them  what  had  happened. 
By  the  light  of  a  candle  I  had  lighted,  their  faces  appeared  as  white 
as  chalk.  Just  then  the  wliimpering  started  again,  and  we  were 
frozen  with  terror.     The  tension  was  relieved  by  Ikey's  voice: 


228  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"I  admit  I'm  afraid  of  ghosts,  but  that  sounds  like  a  dog  to  me. 
Who's  going  up  the  ladder  to  investigate?" 

No  one  volunteered. 

I  had  an  old  deck  of  cards  in  ray  pocket.  Taking  them  out,  I 
suggested  cutting,  the  low  man  to  go  up  the  ladder.  They  agreed. 
I  was  the  last  to  cut.  I  got  the  ace  of  clubs.  Sailor  Bill  was 
stuck  with  the  five  of  diamonds.  Upon  this,  he  insisted  that  it 
should  be  the  best  two  out  of  three  cuts,  but  we  overruled  him,  and 
he  was  unanimously  elected  for  tlie  job. 

With  a  "So  long,  mates,  I'm  going  aloft,"  he  started  toward  the 
ladder,  with  the  candle  in  his  hand,  stumbling  over  the  sleeping 
forms  of  many.  Sundry  grunts,  moans,  and  curses  followed  in  his 
wake. 

As  soon  as  he  started  to  ascend  the  ladder,  a  "tap-tap-tap"  could 
be  heard  from  the  grain  bin.  We  waited  in  fear  and  trembling 
the  result  of  his  mission.  Hungry  was  encouraging  him  with 
"Cheero,  mate,  the  worst  is  yet  to  come." 

After  many  pauses.  Bill  reached  the  top  of  the  ladder  and  opened 
the  door.     We  listened  with  bated  breath.     Then  he  shouted : 

"Blast  my  deadlights,  if  it  ain't  a  poor  dog!  Come  alongside, 
mate,  you're  on  a  lee  shore,  and  in  a  sorry  plight." 

Oh,  what  a  relief  those  words  were  to  us. 

With  the  candle  in  one  hand  and  a  dark  object  under  his  arm. 
Bill  returned  and  deposited  in  our  midst  the  sorriest-looking  speci- 
men of  a  cur  dog  you  ever  set  eyes  on.  It  was  so  weak  it 
couldn't  stand.  But  that  look  in  its  eyes — just  gratitude,  plain 
gratitude.  Its  stump  of  a  tail  was  pounding  against  my  mess  tin, 
and  sounded  just  like  a  message  in  the  Morse  code.  Happy  swore 
that  it  was  sending  SOS. 

We  were  like  a  lot  of  school  children,  every  one  wanting  to  help, 
and  making  suggestions  at  the  same  time.     Hungry   suggested 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— EMPEY    229 

giving  it  something  to  eat,  while  Ikey  wanted  to  play  on  his  infernal 
Jew's  harp,  claiming  it  was  a  musical  dog.  Hungry's  suggestion 
met  our  approval,  and  there  was  a  general  scramble  for  haversacks. 
All  we  could  muster  was  some  hard  bread  and  a  big  piece  of  cheese. 

His  nibs  wouldn't  eat  bread,  and  also  refused  the  cheese,  but 
not  before  sniffing  at  it  for  a  couple  of  minutes.  I  was  going  to 
throw  the  cheese  away,  but  Hungry  said  he  would  take  it.  I  gave 
it  to  him. 

We  were  in  a  quandary.  It  was  evident  that  the  dog  was  starving 
and  in  a  very  weak  condition.  Its  coat  was  lacerated  all  over, 
probably  from  tlie  bites  of  rats.  That  stump  of  a  tail  kept  sending 
SOS  against  my  mess  tin.  Every  tap  went  straight  to  our  hearts. 
We  would  get  somediing  to  eat  for  that  mutt  if  we  were  shot  for  it. 

Sailor  Bill  volunteered  to  burglarize  the  quartermaster's  stores 
for  a  can  of  unsweetened  condensed  milk,  and  left  on  his  perilous 
venture.  He  was  gone  about  twenty  minutes.  During  his  ab- 
sence, with  the  help  of  a  bandage  and  a  capsule  of  iodine,  we 
cleaned  the  wounds  made  by  the  rats.  I  have  bandaged  many  a 
wounded  Tommy,  but  never  received  the  amount  of  thanks  that 
that  dog  gave  with  its  eyes. 

Then  the  billet  door  opened  and  Sailor  Bill  appeared.  He 
looked  like  the  wreck  of  tlie  Hesperus,  uniform  torn,  covered  with 
dirt  and  flour,  and  a  beautiful  black  eye,  but  he  was  smiling,  and 
in  his  hand  he  carried  the  precious  can  of  milk. 

We  asked  no  questions,  but  opened  the  can.  Just  as  we  were 
going  to  pour  it  out,  Happy  butted  in  and  said  it  should  be  mixed 
with  water;  he  ouglit  to  know,  because  his  sister  back  in  Blighty  had 
a  baby,  and  she  always  mixed  water  with  its  milk.  We  could  not 
dispute  this  evidence,  so  water  was  demanded.  We  would  not 
use  the  water  in  our  water  bottles,  as  it  was  not  fresh  enough  for 
our  new  mate.     Happy  volunteered  to  get  some  from  the  well — 


230     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

that  is,  if  we  would  promise  not  to  feed  his  royal  highness  until  he 
returned.  We  promised,  because  Happy  had  proved  that  he  was 
an  authority  on  the  feeding  of  babies.  By  this  time  the  rest  of  the 
section  were  awake  and  were  crowding  around  us,  asking  numerous 
questions,  and  admiring  our  newly  found  friend.  Sailor  Bill 
took  this  opportunity  to  tell  of  his  adventures  while  in  quest  of  tlie 
milk. 

"I  had  a  fair  wind,  and  the  passage  was  good  until  I  came 
alongside  the  quartennaster's  shack,  then  the  sea  got  rough.  The 
porthole  was  battened  down,  and  I  had  to  cast  it  loose.  When  I 
got  aboard,  I  could  hear  the  wind  blowing  through  the  rigging  of 
the  supercargo  (quartermaster  sergeant  snoring),  so  I  was  safe.  I 
set  my  course  due  north  to  tlie  ration  hold,  and  got  my  grappling 
irons  on  a  cask  of  milk,  and  came  about  on  my  homeward-bound 
passage,  but  somediing  was  amiss  with  my  wheel,  because  I  ran 
nose  on  into  him,  caught  him  on  the  rail,  amidships.  Then  it  was 
repel  boarders,  and  it  started  to  blow  big  guns.  His  first  shot  put 
out  my  starboard  light,  and  I  keeled  over.  I  was  in  the  trough 
of  the  sea,  but  soon  righted,  and  then  it  was  a  stem  chase,  with  me 
in  the  lead.  Getting  into  tlie  open  sea,  I  made  a  port  tack  and  hove 
to  in  this  cove  witli  the  milk  safely  in  tow." 

Most  of  us  didn't  know  what  he  was  talking  about,  but  sur- 
mised that  he  had  gotten  into  a  mix-up  with  the  quartermaster  ser- 
geant.    This  surmise  proved  correct. 

Just  as  Bill  finished  his  narration,  a  loud  splash  was  heard,  and 
Happy's  voice  came  to  us.     It  sounded  very  far  off: 

"Help,  I'm  in  the  well!  Hurry  up,  I  can't  swim!"  Then  a  few 
unintelligible  words  intermixed  witli  blub!  blub!  and  no  more. 

We  ran  to  the  well,  and  way  down  we  could  hear  an  awful 
splashing.  Sailor  Bill  yelled  down.  "Look  out  below;  stand  from 
under;  bucket  coming!"     With  that  he  loosed  the  windlass.     In  a 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— EMPEY    231 

few  seconds  a  spluttering  voice  from  the  depths  yelled  up  to  us, 

"Haul  away!" 

It  was  hard  work,  hauling  him  up.  We  had  raised  him  about 
ten  feet  from  the  water,  when  the  handle  of  the  windlass  got  loose 
from  our  grip,  and  down  went  the  bucket  and  Happy.  A  loud 
splash  came  to  us,  and,  grabbing  the  handle  again,  we  worked  like 
Trojans.  A  volley  of  curses  came  from  that  well  which  would 
have  shocked  Old  Nick  himself. 

When  we  got  Happy  safely  out,  he  was  a  sight  wortli  seeing.  He 
did  not  even  notice  us.  Never  said  a  word,  just  filled  his  water 
bottle  from  the  water  in  the  bucket,  and  went  back  to  the  billet. 
We  followed.     My  mess  tin  was  still  sending  SOS. 

Happy,  though  dripping  wet,  silently  fixed  up  the  milk  for  the 
dog.  In  appetite,  the  canine  was  a  close  second  to  Hungry  Fox- 
croft.  After  lapping  up  all  he  could  hold,  our  mascot  closed  his 
eyes  and  his  tail  ceased  wagging.  Sailor  Bill  took  a  dry  flannel 
shirt  from  his  pack,  wrapped  the  dog  in  it,  and  informed  us: 

"Me  and  my  mate  are  going  below,  so  the  rest  of  you  lubbers 
batten  down  and  turn  in." 

We  all  wanted  the  honor  of  sleeping  with  the  dog,  but  did  not 
dispute  Sailor  Bill's  right  to  the  privilege.  By  this  time  the  bunch 
were  pretty  sleepy  and  tired,  and  turned  in  without  much  coaxing, 
as  it  was  pretty  near  daybreak. 

Next  day  we  figured  out  that  perhaps  one  of  the  French  kiddies 
had  put  the  dog  in  the  grain  bin,  and,  in  the  excitement  of  packing 
up  and  leaving,  had  forgotten  he  was  there. 

Sailor  Bill  was  given  the  right  to  christen  our  new  mate. 
He  called  him  "Jim."  In  a  couple  of  days  Jim  came  around  all 
right,  and  got  very  frisky.     Every  man  in  the  section  loved  that 

dog. 

Sailor  Bill  was  court-martialed  for  his  mix-up  with  the  quarter- 


232      DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

master  sergeant,  and  got  seven  days  field  punishment  No.  1.  This 
meant  that  two  hours  each  day  for  a  week  he  would  be  tied  to  the 
wheel  of  a  limber.  During  these  two-hour  periods  Jim  would  be 
at  Bill's  feet,  and,  no  matter  how  much  we  coaxed  him  with  choice 
morsels  of  food,  he  would  not  leave  until  Bill  was  untied.  When 
Bill  was  loose,  Jim  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him — just  walked 
away  in  contempt.  Jim  respected  the  king's  regulations,  and  had 
no  use  for  defaulters. 

At  a  special  meeting  held  by  the  section,  Jim  had  the  oath  of 
allegiance  read  to  him.  He  barked  his  consent,  so  we  solemnly 
swore  him  in  as  a  soldier  of  the  Imperial  British  Army,  fighting  for 
king  and  country.  Jim  made  a  better  soldier  than  any  one  of  us, 
and  died  for  his  king  and  country.  Died  witliout  a  whimper  of 
complaint. 

From  the  village  we  made  several  trips  to  the  trenches ;  each  time 
Jim  accompanied  us.  The  first  time  under  fire  he  put  the  stump  of 
his  tail  between  his  legs,  but  stuck  to  his  post.  When  "carrying 
in"  if  we  neglected  to  give  Jim  something  to  carry,  he  would  make 
such  a  noise  barking  that  we  soon  fixed  him  up. 

Each  day  Jim  would  pick  out  a  different  man  of  the  section  to 
follow.  He  would  stick  to  this  man,  eating  and  sleeping  with  him, 
until  the  next  day,  and  then  it  would  be  some  one's  else  turn. 
When  a  man  had  Jim  with  him,  it  seemed  as  if  his  life  were 
charmed.  No  matter  what  he  went  through,  he  would  come  out 
safely.  We  looked  upon  Jim  as  a  good-luck  sign,  and  believe  me, 
he  was. 

Whenever  it  came  Ikey  Honney's  turn  for  Jim's  company,  he 
was  over-joyed,  because  Jim  would  sit  in  dignified  silence,  listening 
to  the  jew's-harp,  Honney  claimed  that  Jim  had  a  soul  for  music, 
which  was  more  than  he  would  say  about  the  rest  of  us. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— EMPEY    233 

Once,  at  daybreak,  we  had  to  go  over  the  top  in  an  attack.  A 
man  in  die  section  named  Dalton  was  selected  by  Jim  as  his  mate 

in  this  affair. 

The  crew  of  gun  No.  2  were  to  stay  in  the  trench  for  over-head 
fire  purposes,  and,  if  necessary,  to  help  repel  a  probable  counter- 
attack by  the  enemy.  Dalton  was  very  merry,  and  hadn't  the  least 
fear  or  misgiving  as  to  his  safety,  because  Jim  would  be  witli  him 

through  it  all. 

In  the  attack,  Dalton,  closely  followed  by  Jim,  had  gotten  about 
sixty  yards  into  No  Man  s  Land,  when  Jim  was  hit  in  the  stomach 
by  a  bullet.  Poor  old  Jim  toppled  over,  and  lay  still.  Dalton 
turned  around,  and,  just  as  he  did  so,  we  saw  him  Uirow  up  his 
hands  and  fall  face  forward. 

Ikey  Honney,  who  was  No.  3  on  our  gun,  seeing  Jim  fall,  scram- 
bled over  the  parapet,  and,  through  that  rain  of  shells  and  bullets, 
raced  to  where  Jim  was,  picked  him  up,  and,  tucking  him  under 
his  arm,  returned  to  our  trench  in  safety.  If  he  had  gone  to  rescue 
a  wounded  man  in  this  way  he  would  have  no  doubt  been  awarded 
the  Victoria  Cross.     But  he  only  brought  in  poor  bleeding,  dying 

Jim. 

Ikey  laid  him  on  the  fire  step  alongside  of  our  gun,  but  we  could 
not  attend  to  him,  because  we  had  important  work  to  do.  So  he 
died  like  a  soldier,  without  a  look  of  reproach  for  our  heartless 
treatment.  Just  watched  our  every  movement  until  his  lights 
burned  out.  After  the  attack,  what  was  left  of  our  section  gathered 
around  Jim's  bloodstained  body.     There  wasn't  a  dry  eye  in  the 

crowd. 

Next  day,  we  wrapped  him  in  a  small  Union  Jack  belonging  to 
Happy,  and  laid  him  to  rest,  a  soldier  of  the  king. 

We  put  a  little  wooden  cross  over  his  grave  which  read: 


234 


DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


PRIVATE    JIM 

MACHINE-GUN   COMPANY 

KILLED   IN   ACTION 

APRIL    10,    1916 

A  DOG   WITH   A   MAN's   HEART 


Although  the  section  has  lost  lots  of  men,  Jim  is  never  forgotten. 


DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

PRIVATE    JIM 

MACULNE-GUN   COMPANY 

KILLED   IN   ACTION 

APRIL    10,    1916 

A   DOG   WITH   A   BIAN's   HEART 

Although  the  section  has  lost  lots  of  mon,  Jim  1?  uf.vpx  forgotten. 

a.   '        — 


GENERAL  JOHN  J.  PERSHING 

Photograph  taken  for  "  The  Defenders  of  Democracy  " 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— FERBER     235 

HEEL  AND  TOE 

THAT  man — it  could  only  have  been  a  man — who  invented  the 
Klinger  darning  and  mending  machine  struck  a  blow  at  mar- 
riage. Martha  Eggers,  bending  over  her  work  in  the  window 
of  the  Elite  Hand  Laundry  (washing  delivered  same  day  if  left 
before  8  A.  M.)  never  quite  evolved  this  thought  in  her  mind. 
When  one's  job  is  that  of  darning  six  bushels  of  socks  a  day,  not  to 
speak  of  drifts  of  pyjamas  and  shirts,  there  remains  very  little  time 
for  philosophizing. 

The  window  of  the  Elite  Hand  Laundry  was  a  boast.  On  a  line 
strung  from  side  to  side  hung  snowy,  creaseless  examples  of  tlie 
ironer's  art.  Pale  blue  tissue  paper,  stuffed  into  the  sleeves  and 
front  of  lace  and  embroidery  blouses  cunningly  enhanced  their 
immaculate  virginity.  White  pique  skirts,  destined  to  be  grimed 
by  the  sands  of  beach  and  tee,  dangled  like  innocent  lambs  before 
the  slaughter.  Just  behind  this  starched  and  glistening  ambush 
one  glimpsed  the  bent  head  and  the  nimble  fingers  of  Martha 
Eggers,  first  aid  to  the  unwed. 

As  she  sat  weaving,  in  and  out,  in  and  out,  she  was  a  twentieth 
century  version  of  any  one  of  the  Fates,  with  the  Klinger  darner 
and  mender  substituted  for  distaff  and  spindle.  There  was  some- 
thing almost  humanly  intelligent  in  the  workings  of  Martha's  ma- 
chine. Under  its  glittering  needle  she  would  shove  a  sock  whose 
heel  bore  a  great,  jagged,  gaping  wound.  Your  home  danier, 
equipped  only  with  mending  egg,  needle,  and  cotton,  would  have 
pronounced  it  fatal.  But  Martha's  modem  methods  of  sock  sur- 
gery always  saved  its  life.  In  and  out,  back  and  forth,  moved  the 
fabric  under  the  needle.  And  slowly,  the  wound  began  to  heal. 
Tack,  tack,  back  and  forth.     The  operation  was  completed. 


236  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"If  I  see  you  many  more  Mondays,"  Martha  would  say,  grimly, 
tossing  it  into  the  heap  at  her  side,  "there  won't  be  anything  left  of 
the  original  cloth.  I  should  think  people  would  realize  that  this 
laundry  dams  socks,  but  it  doesn't  manufacture  'em." 

Before  the  advent  of  the  ingenious  mending  machine  I  suppose 
more  men  than  would  care  to  admit  it  married  largely  because  they 
grew  so  tired  of  seeing  those  eternal  holes  grinning  back  at  them 
from  heel  and  toe,  and  of  feeling  for  absent  buttons  in  a  hastily 
donned  shirt.  The  Elite  laundry  owed  much  of  its  success  to  the 
fact  that  it  advertised  alleviation  for  these  discomforts. 

If  you  had  known  Martha  as  I  knew  her  you  would  have  found  a 
certain  pathos  in  the  thought  of  this  spare  spinster  performing  for 
legions  of  unlcnown  unseen  men  those  homely,  intimate  tasks  that 
have  long  been  the  duty  of  wife  or  mother.  For  Martha  had  no 
men-folks.  Martha  was  one  of  those  fatherless,  brotherless,  hus- 
bandless  women  who,  because  of  their  state,  can  retain  their  illu- 
sions about  men.  She  had  never  known  the  tragedy  of  setting  forth 
a  dinner  only  to  have  hurled  at  her  that  hateful  speech  beginning 
with,  "I  had  that  for  lunch."  She  had  never  seen  a  male,  collar- 
less,  bellowing  about  the  house  for  his  laundry.  She  had  never  be- 
held that  soul-searing  sight — a  man  in  his  trousers  and  shirt,  his 
suspenders  dangling,  his  face  lathered,  engaged  in  the  unbecoming 
rite  of  shaving. 

Her  knowledge  of  the  home  habits  of  the  male  biped  she  gleaned 
from  the  telltale  hints  of  the  inanimate  garments  that  passed 
through  her  nimble  hands.  She  could  even  tell  character  and  per- 
sonality from  deductions  gathered  at  heel  and  toe.  She  knew,  for 
example,  that  F.  C.  (in  black  ink)  was  an  indefatigable  fox  trotter 
and  she  dubbed  him  Ferdy  Cahn,  though  his  name,  for  all  she  knew, 
might  have  been  Frank  Callahan.  The  dancing  craze,  incidentally, 
had  added  mountainous  stacks  to  Martha's  already  heaped  up  bins. 


VNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— FERBER     237 

The  Elite  Laundry  served  every  age  and  sex.  But  Martha's  de- 
partment was,  perforce,  the  unwed  male  section.  No  self-respect- 
ing wife  or  mother  would  allow  laundry-darned  hose  or  shirts  to 
reflect  on  her  housekeeping  habits.  And  what  woman,  ultra- 
modem  though  she  be,  would  permit  machine-mended  stockings  to 
desecrate  her  bureau  drawers?  So  it  was  that  Martha  ministered, 
for  the  most  part,  to  those  boarding  house  bachelors  living  within 
delivery -wagon  proximity  to  the  Elite  Laundry. 

It  was  early  in  May  that  Martha  first  began  to  notice  the  white 
lisle  socks  marked  E.  G.  She  picked  them  from  among  the  great 
heap  at  her  work  table  because  of  the  exquisite  fineness  of  the 
darning  that  adorned  them.  It  wasn't  merely  darning.  It  was 
embroidery.  It  was  weaving.  It  was  cobweb  tapestry.  It 
blended  in  with  the  original  fabric  so  intimately  that  it  required  an 
expert  eye  to  mark  where  darning  finished  and  cloth  began.  Mar- 
tha regarded  it  with  appreciation  unmarred  by  envy,  as  the  artisan 
eye  regards  the  work  of  the  artist. 

"That's  his  mother's  darning,"  she  thought,  as  she  smoothed  it 
with  one  work-scarred  finger.  "And  she  doesn't  live  here  in 
Chicago.  No,  sir!  It  takes  a  small  town  modier  to  have  the 
time  and  patience  for  that  kind  of  work.  She's  the  kind  whose 
kitchen  smells  of  ginger  cookies  on  Saturday  mornings.  And 
I'll  bet  if  she  ever  found  a  moth  in  the  attic  she'd  call  the  fire  de- 
partment. He's  her  only  son.  And  he's  come  to  the  city  to  work. 
And  his  name — his  name  is  Eddie." 

And  Eddie  he  remained  for  tlie  months  that  followed. 

Now,  there  was  nothing  uncanny  in  Martha  Eggers'  deduction 
that  a  young  man  who  wears  white  hose,  miraculously  darned,  is  a 
self-respecting  young  man,  brought  up  by  a  worshiping  mother 
who  knows  about  ginger  cookies  and  winter  underwear,  and  whose 
Monday  washing  is  fragrant  with  the  clean-smelling  scent  of  green 


238      DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

grass  and  sunshine.  But  it  was  remarkable  that  she  could  pick 
this  one  needle  from  the  haystack  of  socks  and  shirts  that  towered 
above  her.  She  ran  her  hand  through  hundreds  of  garments  in 
the  day's  work.  Some  required  her  attention.  Some  were  guilt- 
less of  rent  or  hole.  She  never  thought  of  mating  them.  That 
was  the  sorter's  work.  But  with  Eddie's  socks  it  was  different. 
They  had  not,  as  yet,  required  the  work  of  her  machine  needle. 
She  told  herself,  whimsically,  tliat  when  the  time  came  to  set  her 
crude  work  next  to  the  masterly  effects  produced  by  the  needle  of 
Eddie's  ma  every  fiber  in  her  would  shrink  from  the  task.  Of 
course  Martha  did  not  put  it  in  just  that  way.  But  the  thought  was 
there.  And  bit  by  bit,  week  by  week,  month  by  month,  the  life, 
and  aims,  and  ambitions,  and  good  luck  and  misfortunes  of  diis 
country  boy  who  had  come  to  the  call  of  the  city,  were  unfolded 
before  tlie  keen  eye  of  the  sparse  spinster  who  sat  stitching  away 
in  the  window  of  the  Elite  Laundry. 

For  a  long,  long  time  the  white  hose  lacked  reenforcements,  so 
that  they  began  to  grow  thin  from  top  to  toe.  Martha  feared  that 
they  would  go  to  pieces  in  one  irremediable  catastrophe,  like  the 
one-hoss  shay.  Evidently  Eddie's  job  did  not  warrant  unnecessary 
expenditures.  Then  the  holes  began  to  appear.  Martha  tucked 
them  grimly  under  the  glittering  needle  of  the  Klinger  darner  and 
mender  but  at  the  first  incision  she  snapped  the  thread,  drew  out 
the  sock,  and  snipped  the  stitches. 

"His  ma'd  have  a  fit.  I'll  just  roll  'em  up,  and  take  'em  home 
with  me  to-night  and  darn  'em  by  hand."  She  laughed  at  her- 
self, a  little  shame-faced  laugh,  but  tender,  too. 

She  did  dam  them  that  night,  in  the  twilight,  and  in  tlie  face  of 
the  wondering  contempt  of  Myrt.  Myrt  dwelt  across  the  hall  in 
five-roomed  affluence  with  her  father  and  mother.  She  was  one 
of  the  ten  stenographers  employed  by  the  Slezak  Film  Company. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— FERBER     239 

There  existed  between  the  two  women  an  attraction  due  to  the  law 
of  opposites.  Myrt  was  nineteen.  She  earned  twelve  dollars  a 
week.  She  knew  all  tlie  secrets  of  the  moving  picture  business, 
but  even  that  hideous  knowledge  had  left  her  face  unscarred. 
Myrt's  twelve  was  expended  wholly  upon  the  embellisliment  of 
Myrt.  Myrt  was  one  of  those  asbestos  young  women  upon  whom 
the  fires  of  life  leave  no  mark.  She  regarded  Martha  Eggers, 
who  dwelt  in  one  room,  in  the  rear,  across  tlie  hall,  with  that 
friendly  contempt  which  nineteen,  cruelly  conscious  of  its  charms, 
bestows  upon  plain  forty. 

She  strolled  into  Martha  Eggers'  room  now  to  find  that  lady 
intent  upon  a  white  sock,  darning  needle  in  hand.  She  was  work- 
ing in  the  fast-fading  light  U.at  came  through  her  one  window. 
Myrt,  kimono-clad,  stared  at  her  in  unbelief. 

"Well,  I've  heard  that  when  actors  get  a  day  off  tliey  go  to  the 
theater.  '  I  suppose  it's  the  same  idea.  I  should  tliink  you'd  get 
enough  darning  and  mending  from  eight  A.  M.  to  six  P.  M.  without 
dragging  it  home  with  you." 

"I'm  doing  it  for  a  friend,"  said  Martha,  her  head  bent  over  her 

work. 

"What's  his  name?" 

"Eddie." 

"Eddie  what?" 

Martha  blushed,  pricked  her  finger,  bent  lower.  "Eddie- 
Eddie  Grant." 

At  the  end  of  the  next  six  weeks  every  pair  of  Eddie  Grant's 
hose,  heel  and  toe,  bore  the  marks  of  Martha's  workmanship. 
Then,  quite  suddenly,  they  ceased  to  appear.  Had  he  gone  back 
home,  defeated?  Had  he  moved  to  another  neighborhood?  Had 
he  invested  in  a  fresh  supply  of  haberdashery?  On  Tuesday  of  the 
seventh  week  E.  G.'s  white  hose  appeared  once  more.     Martha 


240      DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

picked  them  from  among  the  heap.  Instantly  she  knew.  Clum- 
sily, painstakingly,  they  had  been  darned  by  a  hand  all  unac- 
customed to  such  work.  A  masculine  hand,  as  plucky  as  it  was 
awkward. 

"Why,  the  poor  kid !  The  poor  little  kid!  Lost  his  job  for  six 
weeks,  and  did  his  own  washing  and  mending." 

That  night  she  picked  out  the  painfully  woven  stitches  and  re- 
placed them  with  her  own  exquisite  workmanship. 

Eddie's  new  job  was  evidently  a  distinct  advance.  The  old  socks 
disappeared  altogether.  They  had  been  darned  until  each  one 
resembled  a  mosaic.  In  their  place  appeared  an  entirely  new  set, 
with  nothing  but  tlie  E.  G.  inked  upon  them  by  the  laimdry  to  dis- 
tinguish them  from  hundreds  of  others.  Sometimes  Martha 
missed  them  entirely.  Then,  suddenly,  E.  G.  blossomed  into  silk, 
with  clocking  up  the  side,  and  Mardia  knew  tliat  he  was  in  love. 
She  found  herself  wondering  what  kind  of  girl  she  was,  and 
whether  the  woman  in  the  little  town  that  was  Back  Home  to  Eddie 
would  have  approved  of  her.  One  day  there  appeared  a  pair  of 
lovesick  lavenders,  but  they  never  again  bloomed.  Evidently 
she  was  the  kind  of  a  girl  who  would  be  firm  about  those.  Then, 
for  a  time — for  two  long  weeks — E.  G.'s  hose  were  black;  somber, 
mournful,  unrelieved  black.  They  had  quarreled.  After  that 
they  brightened.  They  became  numerous,  and  varied.  There 
was  about  them  something  triumphant,  ecstatic.  They  rose  to  a 
paeon. 

"They're  engaged,"  Martha  told  herself.  "I  hope  she's  the 
right  kind  of  a  girl  for  Eddie." 

Then,  as  they  sobered  down  and  even  began  to  require  some  of 
Martha's  expert  workmanship  she  knew  that  it  was  all  right. 
"She's  making  him  save  up." 

Six  months  later  the  Elite  Laundry  knew  E.  G.  no  more. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— FERBER     241 

Myrt,  strolling  into  Martha's  room  one  evening,  as  was  her 
wont,  found  that  severe-faced  lady  auspiciously  red-eyed.  Even 
Myrt,  the  unimaginative,  sensed  that  some  unhappiness  had  Martha 
in  its  grip. 

"What's  matter?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Kinda  lonesome,  I  guess.  What's  the  news 
down  at  your  place?" 

"News!  Nothing  ever  happens  in  our  office.  Honestly,  some 
days  I  think  I'll  just  drop  dead,  it's  so  slow.  I  took  three  hours 
dictation  from  Hubbell  this  morning.  He's  writing  the  'Dangers 
of  Dora'  series,  and  I  almost  go  to  sleep  over  it.  He's  got  her 
now  where  she's  chained  in  the  cave  with  the  tide  coming  up,  on  a 
deserted  coast,  and  nobody  for  miles  around.  I  was  tickled  to 
death  when  old  Slezak  called  me  away  to  fill  out  the  contract  blanks 
for  liim  and  Willie  Kaplan.  Kaplan's  signed  up  with  the  Slezak's 
for  tliree  years  at  a  million  and  a  half  a  year.  He  stood  over  me 
while  I  was  filling  it  out— him  and  his  brother  Gus— as  if  I  was 
going  to  put  something  over  on  'em  when  they  weren't  looking." 
"My  land!     How  exciting!     It  must  be  wonderful  working  in  a 

place  like  that." 

Myrt  yawned,  and  stretched  her  round  young  arms  high  above 

her  head. 

"I  don't  see  anything  exciting  about  it.  Of  course  it  isn't  as 
bad  as  your  job,  sitting  there  all  day,  sewing  and  mending.  It  isn't 
even  as  if  you  were  sewing  on  new  stuff,  like  a  dressmaker,  and 
really  making  something  out  of  it.  I  should  think  you'd  go 
crazy,  it's  so  uninteresting." 

Martha  turned  to  the  window,  so  that  her  face  was  hidden  from 
Myrt.  "Oh,  I  don't  know.  Darning  socks  isn't  so  bad.  Depends 
on  what  you  see  in  'em." 

"See  in  'era!"  echoed  Miss  Myrtle  Halperin.     "See!     Well  for 


242  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

the  love  of  heaven  what  can  you  see  in  mending  socks,  besides 
holes!" 

Martha  did  not  answer.  Myrt,  finding  things  dull,  took  herself 
off,  languidly.  At  the  door  she  turned  and  looked  back  on  the 
stiff  little  figure  seated  in  the  window  with  its  face  to  the  gray 
twilight. 

"What's  become  of  your  friend  What's-his-name  that  you  used 
to  dam  socks  for  at  home?     Grant,  wasn't  it?     Eddie  Grant?" 

"That  was  it,"  answered  Martha.  "He's  married.  He  and 
his  wife,  they've  got  to  visit  Eddie's  folks  back  home,  on  their 
wedding  trip.  I  miss  him  something  terrible.  He  was  just  like 
a  son  to  me." 


CAwfi'  -J-JUA/bt 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— GARRISON    243 
THOSE  WHO  WENT  FIRST 

A  DISTANT  bugle  summoned  them  by  day, 
A  far  flame  beckoned  them  across  the  night. 
I^jey  rose— they  flung  accustomed  things  away  — 
The  habit  of  old  days  and  new  delight. 
They  heard— diey  saw— tliey  turned  them  over-seas — 
Oh,  Land  of  ours,  rejoice  in  such  as  these! 

This  was  no  call  that  sounded  at  their  door. 
No  wild  torch  flaming  in  their  window  space,— 
Yet  the  quick  answer  went  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  swift  feet  hastened  to  the  trysting  place. 
Laughing,  they  turned  to  death  from  peace  and  ease,— 
Oh,  Land  of  ours,  be  proud  of  such  as  these! 

High  hearts-great  hearts-whose  valor  strikes  for  us 

Out  of  tlie  awful  Dissonance  of  war 

This  perfect  note,— in  you  the  chivalrous 

Young  Seekers  of  the  Grail  re-live  once  more,— 

Acclaimed  of  men,  or  fallen  where  none  sees. 

Oh,  Land  of  ours,  be  glad  of  such  as  these! 


J/Ur^*^^^^^^^^^^'^^. 


244  DEFENDERS  OF.  DEMOCRACY 

A  SUMMER'S   DAY 

ONCE  I  wrote  a  story  of  a  woman's  day  in  Paris,  a  Perfect 
Day.  It  had  to  do  with  the  buying  of  all  the  lovely  trappings 
that  are  the  entrappings  of  the  animal  which  Mr.  Shaw  believes 
woman  endlessly  pursues.  One  of  the  animals  was  in  the  story, 
and  there  was  food  and  moonlight,  music  and  adventure. 

I  never  sold  tliat  marvelous  tale.  For  years  it  has  peeked  out  at 
me  from  a  certain  pigeon  hole  in  my  desk  with  tlie  anguish  of  a 
prisoner  in  the  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta,  and  with  as  little  hope  for 
its  liberation  into  the  glad  air  of  a  free  press.  Yet  it  is  with  me 
now  in  Paris.  In  that  last  distracted  moment  of  packing,  when  all 
sense  of  what  is  needed  has  left  one,  it  was  thrust  into  a  glove  case 
like  contraband  cigarettes.  There  may  have  been  some  idea  of 
remolding  it  with  a  few  deceiving  touches — make  a  soldier  of 
the  hero  probably — but  with  the  "love  interest"  firmly  remaining. 
There  was  only  one  Perfect  Day  to  a  woman,  I  thought. 

That  was  some  weeks  ago.  I  am  now  writing  on  the  back  of 
that  romance  for  lack  of  paper,  writing  of  another  day,  wonder- 
ing as  I  work  if  the  present  day's  adventures  will  have  any  quality 
that  might  hold  tlie  reader's  eye.  I  dare  not  ask  for  tlie  reader's 
heart  when  love  does  not  stalk  through  the  pages. 

Paris  is  now  an  entrenched  camp  but  one  is  not  awakened  by 
bugles,  and  the  beat  of  drums  is  unheard  as  the  troops  march 
through  the  city.  It  was  the  regular  "blump-blump"  of  military 
boots  past  my  window  which  possibly  aroused  me  into  activity, 
altliough  the  companies  crossing  from  station  to  cantonment  no 
longer  turn  the  head  of  the  small  boy  as  he  rolls  his  hoop  along 
the  Champs  Elysees.  This  troubles  me,  and  I  always  go  to  the 
curb  to  watch  them  when  I  am  in  the  street. 


"ONCK    I'llE  (JIA.NT  TO^    OK  A   l'i:()l'LI':  WHO  FHOLICKKD' 

/•"n/ni  ///(■  Orif/iiiiil  W'dliT  Ciiliir 

liv  U  (///('/•  Hale 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HALE      245 

There  was  an  instant's  hesitation  before  I  pulled  up  the  re- 
fractory Venetian  blind — the  right  rope  so  eager  to  rise,  the  left 
so  indifferent  to  its  improvement — an  instant's  dread.  I  was 
afraid  "they"  would  be  hopping  about  even  this  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, hopping,  hopping — the  jerking  gait  of  the  mutilated — the 
little  broken  waves  of  a  sea  of  "horizon  blue."  But  they  must 
have  been  just  getting  their  faces  washed  at  the  Salon,  where  once 
we  went  to  see  pictures  and  now  find  compositions  more  dire  than 
the  newest  schools  of  painting. 

On  the  other  side  the  stretch  of  chestnuts,  the  taxicabs,  returned 
to  tlieir  original  mission,  were  already  weaving  about  in  their 
effort  to  exterminate  each  other.  Battling  at  tlie  Mame  had  been 
but  a  slight  deviation  in  their  mode  of  procedure,  yet  when  a  cab 
recently  ran  down  and  killed  a  bewildered  soldier  impeded  by  a 
crutch  strange  to  him,  Paris  raised  its  voice  in  a  new  cry  of  rage. 
Beyond  the  Qiamps  Elysees,  far  beyond,  rose  the  Eiffel  tower. 
Capable,  immune  so  far  from  the  attacks  of  the  enemy,  its  very 
outlines  seem  to  have  taken  on  a  greater  importance.  Once  the 
giant  toy  of  a  people  who  frolicked,  it  now  serves  in  its  swift 
mission  as  the  emblem  of  a  race  more  gigantic  than  we  had  con- 
ceived. 

Is  it  not  a  relieving  thought  to  such  of  us  as  still  can  play,  that 
spirit,  whedier  in  the  bosom  of  the  boulevardier  or  his  country 
cousin  playing  bowls  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  is  the  same  that 
projects  itself  brilliantly  across  the  battlefield ;  that  the  flash  of  a 
woman's  eye  as  she  invites  a  conquest  is  the  flame  upon  the  altar 
when  sacrifice  is  needed;  that  the  very  gaiety  which  makes  one 
laugh  is  a  force  to  endure  the  deepest  pits  that  have  been  dug  for 
mankind.  Even  as  I  continually  struggle  with  a  lump  in  my  throat 
which  I  often  think  should  remain  with  me  forever,  I  dare  claim 
that  of  all  the  necessitous  qualities  in  life  the  spirit  of  play  must 


246     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

be  the  last  to  leave  a  race.  Its  translation  to  the  gravities  of  living 
needs  no  bellows  for  the  coaxing  of  the  fire.  It  is  ever  burning 
upon  the  hearth  of  the  happy  heart. 

The  gilded  statuary  of  the  bridge  of  Alexander  III,  like  flaming 
beacons  in  the  sun's  rays,  waved  us  out  and  on  to  the  Invalides  to 
see  the  weekly  awarding  of  medals.  It  is  presumably  the  gay 
event  of  the  week  as  the  band  plays,  and  there  is  some  color  in  the 
throngs  who  surge  along  the  colonnades  to  look  into  the  court  of 
honor.  A  portion  of  the  great  space  is  now  accommodating  huge 
shattered  cannon  and  air  craft  of  the  enemy,  their  massiveness 
siiggesting,  as  the  little  glittering  medals  are  pinned  upon  the  sol- 
diers' breasts,  that  it  is  not  so  easy  to  be  a  hero  and  go  a-capturing. 

By  the  judicious  wavings  of  famous  autographs  we  were  per- 
mitted the  upper  balcony  to  sketch  the  heroic  ones  within  the 
hollow  square  formed  by  soldiers  and  marines.  Directly  beneath 
us  stood  the  band  with  the  brassard  of  the  red  cross  on  their  arms, 
for  they  are  still  the  stretcher  bearers  at  the  front.  In  the  center 
of  the  square  was  a  little  group  of  men,  seventy  perhaps  but  the 
space  was  vast.  Some  were  standing,  some  seated  with  stiff  stumps 
of  legs  sticking  out  queerly.  Here  and  there  a  nurse  stood  by  a 
blind  man,  and  there  were  white  oblong  gaps  in  the  line  which 
designated  the  beds  of  the  paralyzed. 

I  had  set  my  teeth  and  said  diat  I  must  stand  it  when  across  the 
courtyard  like  a  liquid  stream  of  some  spilled  black  portion  came 
the  mothers  and  the  wives,  who  were  to  wear  the  ribbon  their  sol- 
diers had  earned  in  exchange  for  their  lives.  Or  should  there  be 
little  sons  or  daughters  they  received  this  wondrous  emblem  of 
their  fathers'  sacrifice.  We  could  see  the  concerted  white  lift  of 
handkerchiefs  to  the  eyes  of  the  black  line  of  women  as  the 
general  bestowed  the  honors.     But  the  little  children  were  tranquil. 

With  the  beginning  of  the  distribution  the  band,  for  which  I  had 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HALE     247 

longed  that  it  might  give  a  glow  to  the  war,  swiing  into  a  blare  of 
triumph.  It  was  the  first  note  of  music  we  had  heard  in  France. 
And  as  we  all  expressed  our  emotion  with  abandonment  throughout 
the  enlivening  strains  of  "The  Washington  Post,"  I  appreciated 
the  infinite  wisdom  of  marching  drumless  tlirough  the  streets — of 
the  divine  lack  of  the  bugles'  song.  For  music,  no  matter  its 
tlieme,  makes  happy  only  those  who  are  already  happy.  To 
those  who  suifer  it  urges  an  unloosening  of  tlieir  grief — and  grief 
must  not  go  abroad  in  France. 

There  was  an  end  to  the  drama.  The  guard  of  honor  marched 
through  the  porte,  banners  flying.  It  was  a  happy  ending,  I  sup- 
pose, though  one  might  not  think  so  by  the  triumphal  chariots 
that  entered  the  court  to  bear  away  the  heroes — chariots  with  that 
red  emblem  emblazoned  upon  a  white  disc  which  would  have  mysti- 
fied an  early  Caesar.  But  my  thoughts  were  not  entirely  with  the 
chief  actors  in  the  play,  rather  with  the  squad  of  soldiers  who  had 
surrounded  them,  the  supers  who  would  have  enjoyed  medals,  too, 
and  upon  whom  opportunity  had  not  smiled;  whose  epic  of  brave 
deeds  may  never  be  read,  and  who,  by  chance,  may  go  legless  yet 
ribbonless  up  the  Champs  Elysees. 

"They"  were  hopping  up  the  Avenue  when  we  crossed  it  again, 
yet  we  all  went  on  about  our  daily  tasks  as  one  passes  the  blind 
man  on  the  comer  of  Sixth  Avenue  and  Thirty-third  Street.  He 
may  receive  a  penny,  a  twang  of  the  heart  strings,  but  he  must 
be  passed  to  go  into  the  shop.  My  list  was  in  my  purse  bearing 
but  a  faint  resemblance  to  the  demands  of  other  years.  I  thought 
as  I  took  it  out  what  confusion  of  mind  would  have  been  my  por- 
tion had  I  found  it  in  my  purse  three  summers  ago,  in  what  state  of 
madness  could  any  one  prepare  for  a  day  in  Paris  such  a  program 
as:  "Gloves,  Hospital  232,  furs,  workshop  for  blind,  shell  combs, 
see  my  baby  at  Orphelinat,  hair  nets,  cigarettes  to  my  soldier,  try 


248     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 

on  gowns,  funeral  of  Am.  airman,"  and  on  and  on  through  each 
day's  great  accomplishment  to  the  long  quiet  night. 

Yet  to  buy  freely  and  even  frivolously  in  France  need  harass 
nothing  more  soulful  tlian  a  letter  of  credit,  and  it  was  with  less  of 
guilt  than  of  fear  that  I  entered  the  courtyard  of  my  furrier.  I 
turned  the  button  ever  so  gently  with  the  same  dread  in  my  heart 
that  I  had  suffered  in  going  back  to  all  of  my  shop  keepers  of 
previous  summers.  Would  he  still  be  there?  Two  years  is  a 
long  time,  and  he  was  a  young  man.  But  he  was  there,  wounded 
in  the  chest  but  at  work  and  in  expectation  of  being  recalled.  He 
did  not  want  to  go  back,  but  of  course  if  he  was  needed — 

And  I  must  lay  stress  on  the  magnificence  of  this  hope  that  he 
might  not  have  to  return  to  the  trenches.  I  have  found  many  who 
do  not  want  to  go  back.  Fierce  partizans  of  French  courage  deny 
this,  reading  in  my  contention  a  lack  of  bravery,  but  to  me  it  is 
valor  of  a  glorious  color.  For  they  do  return  without  resentment, 
and,  what  is  more  difficult  in  this  day  of  monimiental  deeds  and 
minute  bickerings,  without  criticism. 

Like  most  of  the  men  who  come  out  of  the  trenches  he  had  very 
little  to  say  about  them.  It  amused  him  to  hear  that  my  new  fur 
coat  purchased  in  America  is  of  so  fleeting  a  dye  tliat  I  must  dart 
into  the  subway  whenever  the  sun  shines.  He  was  laughing 
quietly  as  he  wished  me  a  cloudy  winter  upon  my  descending  the 
broad  stone  steps  into  the  empty,  echoing  courtyard.  The  un- 
expected appreciation  of  my  doubtful  humor  set  me  musing  over 
the  possibility  of  a  duty  new  to  Americans.  It  is  the  French  who 
have  stood  for  gaiety.  We  have  warmed  ourselves  in  their  quick 
wit.  Perhaps  since  it  is  time  for  us  to  do  our  little  clownish  best 
to  set  them  laughing. 

Having  made  the  resolve  I  failed  meanly  to  put  it  into  execution. 
I  knew  I  was  going  to  fail  as  the  motor  stopped  before  the  great 


VNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HALE     249 

house  in  the  rue  Daru — the  lordly  house  of  exquisitely  tinted  walls 
although  the  colors  are  not  seen  by  those  who  dwell  within.  There 
is  a  paved  cour  beyond  the  high  wall  with  great  steps  leading  up  to 
the  hotel.  At  the  right  are  the  stables,  where  delicate  fabrics  are 
woven — the  workmen  with  heads  erect;  where  are  special  looms 
for  those  who,  by  the  sad  demands  of  this  war,  are  denied  hands 
as  well  as  their  two  eyes.  At  the  left  is  another  building  and 
here  the  men  play  in  a  gymnasium,  even  fence  with  confidence. 
In  an  anteroom  is  a  curious  lay  figure  that  the  most  sensitive  of  the 
students  may  learn  massage — it  is  the  blind  in  Japan  who  give 
their  understanding  fingers  to  this  work — and  in  the  rooms  above 
is  a  printing  press,  silent  for  lack  of  funds,  but  ready  to  give  a 
paper  of  his  own  to  the  sightless.  Only,  at  "The  Light  House" 
they  will  not  accept  that  a  single  one  of  their  guests  is  without 
vision.  "Ah  guardienne,"  cried  one  of  the  students  to  the  Amer- 
ican woman  who  has  established  our  Light  House  methods  over 
there,  "you  do  not  see  the  imevenness  of  this  fabric  for  your  eyes 
are  in  your  way." 

I  was  standing  in  the  room  where  the  plan  of  the  house  is  set 
upon  a  table.  It  is  the  soldier's  first  lesson  that  he  may  know 
the  turns  and  steps,  and  run  about  without  the  pitiful  outstretch- 
ing of  arms.  There  were  other  callers  upon  the  guardienne.  A 
blind  graduate  who  had  learned  to  live  (which  means  to  work) 
had  returned  with  his  little  old  father,  and  both  were  telling  her 
that  he  had  enough  orders  for  his  sweaters  from  the  "Trois  Quar- 
tiers"  to  keep  him  occupied  for  two  years.  The  family  felt  that 
he  was  established — so  there  was  nothing  more  to  fear.  And  then 
because  we  were  all  happy  over  it  the  old  man  and  tlie  woman  and 
myself  began  to  cry  noiselessly.  Only  the  blind  boy  remained 
smiling  through  the  choking  silence. 

I  went  to  the  window  and  glared  down  into  the  gardens  where 


250     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

other  soldiers  were  studying  at  little  tables  with  a  professor  for 
each,  and  I  asked  myself  why,  in  this  great  exigency,  I  was  not 
being  funny  and  paying  my  debt  to  France,  But  there  was  noth- 
ing to  be  funny  about.  The  thing  that  dried  my  tears  was  the 
recollection  of  tlie  blind  asylum  of  my  youth,  where  the  "inmates" 
never  learned  to  walk  without  groping,  where  we  were  shown  hid- 
eous bead  furniture,  too  small  for  dolls,  which  was  the  result  of 
their  eager  but  misspent  lives. 

There  was  a  gown  to  be  ordered  before  noon  and  as  I  drove 
back  through  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore  I  found  myself  looking 
fondly,  tliirstily  into  the  shop  windows,  lifting  my  free  eyes  to  the 
charming  vagaries  of  old  buildings,  and  again  I  made  a  vow  al- 
though it  had  nothing  to  do  with  humor.  On  my  dressing  table 
rests  a  cushion  of  brocade  and  I  shall  carry  it  about  as  one  who 
may  yield  to  temptation  carries  a  pledge,  for  the  card  which  is 
attached  chants  out  to  me  whenever  my  eyes  rest  upon  it:  "Soldat 
Pierre.  A  veugle  de  la  guerre.  Blesse  a  Verdun."  And  as  long 
as  Soldier  Pierre.  Blind  from  the  war.  Wounded  at  Verdun 
can  go  on  weaving  his  fabrics  I  pray  tliat  I  may  carry  whatever 
burden  may  be  mine  with  the  unrebellious  spirit. 

Ah  well !  The  robe  took  its  place  in  the  curriculum  of  my  new 
Parisian  day.  It  was  to  be  a  replica  in  color  of  that  worn  by  the 
head  of  the  house — her  one  of  mourning  was  so  bravely  smart — 
for  the  business  must  go  on  and  only  the  black  badge  of  glory  in 
fashionable  form  show  itself  in  the  gay  salon.  "Yes,  we  must  go 
on,"  she  said,  "though  every  wife  may  give  her  mate.  It  is  of  an 
enormity  to  realize  before  one  dies  that  he  can  be  done  witliout — 
that  there  are  enough  little  ones  to  keep  France  alive  and  we  women 
in  the  meantime  can  care  for  the  country.  Our  men  may  die  glad 
in  that  thought,  but  I  think  there  must  be  a  little  of  grief,  too.  It  is 
sad  not  to  be  needed.     Yes,  madame,  blue  for  you  where  mine  is 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HALE     251 

black,  and  in  place  of  the  crepe  something  very  brilliant.  It  is 
only  Americans  that  we  can  make  gay  now,  and  it  keeps  the  women 
in  the  sewing  room  of  good  cheer  to  work  in  colors.  Too  dear  you 
think?     Ah,  no,  madame,  observe  the  model!" 

Conscious  that  she  had  taken  the  basest  advantage  of  my  sym- 
pathy, and  glad  that  she  had  done  so  I  went  on  to  dejeuner  with  a 
feeling  that  I  had  deserved  it  which  I  might  not  otherwise  have 
enjoyed.  We  were  lunching  at  the  restaurant  on  the  Seine  which 
felt  for  a  short  time  tlie  upheaval  of  war.  Among  the  first  called 
to  the  front  had  been  the  proprietor,  and  the  august  deputies  whose 
custom  it  was  to  take  their  midday  meal  at  this  famous  eating  place 
had  suffered  from  an  unevenness  of  the  cuisine.  He  is  back  at  his 
establishment  now,  an  ammunition  maker  on  the  night  shift  and 
the  excellent  and  watchful  patron  at  noon. 

Our  guests  came  promptly,  for  France  still  eats,  although,  if  I 
can  say  anything  so  anomalous,  does  not  stop  to  do  so.     The  war 
talk  continues  albeit  one  carries  it  more  lightly  through  a  meal.     A 
French  officer  arrived  in  the  only  automobile  of  his  garage  which 
the  government  had  not  commandeered.     We  looked  dovsm  upon 
it  stealthily  tliat  we  might  not  give  offense  to  his  chauffeur,  for 
the  car  is  a  Panhard  in  the  last  of  its  teens— which  holds  no 
terrors  to  a  woman  but  is  a  gloomy  age  for  a  motor.     An  American 
architect  from  our  Clearing  House  bowed  over  my  hand  a  little 
more  Gallic  in  these  days  than  the  Gaul  himself.     He  has  a  right 
to  the  manners  of  the  country.     He  had  come  over  at  the  beginning 
of  the  war  for  a  month  and  is  determined  to  stick  it  out  if  he 
never  builds  another  railway  station.     "To  see  the  troops  march 
through  the  Arc  de  Triomphe!"  is  the  cry  of  the  Americans,  but  the 
French  do  not  express  themselves  so  dramatically. 

There  is  drama  enough,  though,  even  in  the  filing  of  papers  at 
every  American  relief  society.     That  and  the  new  sensation  of 


252     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

work  serves  to  hold  the  dilettante  of  our  country  to  his  long  task. 
"This  is  the  president's  office,"  you  will  be  told  in  a  hushed  voice 
outside  some  stately  door.  Then  one  discovers  in  Mr.  President  a 
playmate  of  Mayfair  or  Monte  Carlo  or  Taormina  who  may  never 
previously  have  used  a  desk  except  as  a  support  for  the  signing 
of  checks. 

Our  friend  had  been  engaged  that  morning  upon  the  re-ticketing 
of  the  Lafayette  Kits  which  had  come  back  from  the  front  because 
there  was  no  longer  a  Gaspard  to  receive  them.  I  put  this  down 
that  any  young  girl  of  our  country  who  does  not  hear  from  "her 
soldier"  may  understand  the  silence.  And  sometimes  die  poilu 
is  a  little  confused,  writing  a  charming  letter  of  thanks  to  "Mon- 
sieur Lafayette"  himself. 

A  man  takes  coffee  at  dejeuner  but  finishes  his  cigar  en  route 
to  work.  We  were  at  tlie  edge  of  Paris  before  tlie  Illustrator  had 
thrown  his  away.  We  were  not  in  the  car  of  ancient  lineage  but  in 
that  relic  of  other  days  a  real  automobile  witliout  the  great  white 
letters  of  the  army  upon  its  sides  and  bonnet.  Yet  we  were  going 
into  the  heart  of  the  Army.  We  would  not  be  among  tlie  derelicts 
of  battle  that  afternoon  but  with  men  sound  of  mind  and  body,  and 
the  thought  was  grateful  that  there  would  be  nothing  to  anguish 
over.  We  were  to  visit  two  cantonments,  rough  barracks,  in  one 
of  which  the  men  gathered  after  their  "permission"  for  a  re- 
equipment;  while  at  the  second  one  were  those  soldiers  who  had 
become  separated  from  their  regiments,  and  who  were  sent  there 
until  the  companies — if  they  existed — could  be  found,  and  the 
"isolated"  again  despatched  to  the  front. 

I  had  anticipated  a  very  relieving  afternoon.  The  sim  shone, 
the  long  road  led  to  open  country,  and  many  circling  aeroplanes 
over  an  aviation  field  nearby  gave  the  air  of  a  fete.     Only  the 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HALE     253 

uniforms  of  the  English  and  American  women  who  are  attached  to 
each  of  these  many  cantonments  suggested  any  necessitous  com- 
bating of  the  grim  reaper. 

Yet  they  are  not  nurses  of  Uie  body  but  of  the  spirit.  From 
modest  little  vine  covered  sheds  erected  in  each  ugly  open  space 
they  disperse  good  cheer  augmented  by  coffee  and  cigarettes  (and 
such  small  comforts  as  we  Americans  send  them)  after  the  regula- 
tion army  rations  are  served  by  the  commissary.  They  hear  the 
men's  stories,  comfort  the  unhappy  ones,  chaff  the  gloomy  ones, 
and  when  they  have  a  moment's  breathing  space  write  letters  to  such 
of  those  as  have  asked  for  a  correspondent. 

One  of  these  women— an  American— was  intent  upon  tliis  occu- 
pation at  the  first  canteen  we  visited.     She  admitted  that  she  was 
tired  hut  she  must  answer  her  letters.     She  was  rather  grave  about 
it,  "I  write  to  sixty-eight,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  teU  you  why.     At 
least  I  will  tell  you  a  little  of  it  and  you  can  read  the  rest. 
I  was  on  night  duty.     There  is  always  one  of  us  here.     The  men 
have  just  come  from  visiting  their  homes  and  some  of  them  are  blue 
and  cannot  sleep.     Rude  to  us?     Oh,  never!     I  had  written  letters 
almost  all  night  and  it  was  time  to  make  the  morning  coffee,  yet 
there  was  still  one  to  do.     I  was  tempted  to  put  it  aside.     I  didn't 
remember  the  man,  but  he  had  sent  me  a  word  of  thanks.     Well, 
somehow  I  did  answer  it  between  the  moment  of  filling  the  caul- 
dron and  getting  ready  for  the  day.     Here  is  his  reply-it  came 

this  morning — " 

Translating  crudely  from  the  letter  I  read  aloud  to  our  little 
circle:  "Dear  Madame,  you  have  saved  my  life.  I  have  no 
friends  and  no  people  left  for  I  am  from  the  invaded  districts,  so 
no  one  writes  me.  To-day  I  was  on  duty  as  tlie  officer  came  into 
our  trench  with  the  mail.     He  called  my  name.     He  gave  me 


254     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

permission  to  leave  the  listening  post  to  receive  your  valued  letter. 
While  at  his  side  a  shell  tore  up  entirely  my  post.  I  thank  you, 
Madame,  that  I  am  spared  to  fight  for  France — " 

I  regarded  her  with  longing.  She  had  been  the  controller  of  a 
destiny.  I  suppose  we  are  all  that  when  we  bend  our  best  efforts, 
but  seldom  are  we  so  definitely  apprised  of  the  reward  of  untiring 
duty. 

A  petty  officer  passed  by  the  shack  witli  a  paper  in  his  hands. 
There  were  no  sounding  trumpets,  but  the  men  recognized  the 
paper  and  rose  from  the  ground  where  they  had  been  lounging  to 
hear  him  read  the  list  of  those  who  were  to  return  immediately  to 
the  front.  As  the  names  were  called  each  one  summoned  turned 
without  comment  or  exclamation  or  expletive,  picked  up  his  kit 
dumped  in  a  comer,  slung  on  the  heavy  equipment,  saw  that  the 
huge  loaf  of  bread  was  secure — the  extra  shoes — refilled  his  can- 
teen and  moved  over  to  the  barred  gate.  Occasionally  one  shook 
hands  with  a  comrade  and  all  saluted  the  women  of  the  little 
flower-bedecked  hut.  An  order  was  given  and  the  gate  was  opened. 
They  filed  out  into  the  dusty  road  on  their  march  to  the  railway 
station.  The  gate  was  closed.  A  little  hill  rose  higher  than  the 
ground  of  tlie  barracks  and  we  could  see  them  once  again — stout 
little  men  in  patched  imiforms — bending  unresistingly  under  their 
burdens,  the  heavy  steel  helmets  gleaming  but  faintly  in  the  sun. 
Another  detachment  entered  tlie  barracks. 

It  was  coffee  time  now.  The  soldiers  were  lingering  politely 
about  with  their  tin  cups  in  hand — not  too  expectantly,  so  as  to 
assure  the  ladies  that  if  by  any  chance  there  was  no  coffee  they 
would  not  be  disappointed.  The  gentlewoman  in  attendance  had 
recently  come  from  a  canteen  near  the  front  where  soup  is  made 
and  often  eight  thousand  bowls  of  it  served  in  a  day.     The  skin  of 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HALE     255 

her  arms  and  hands  is,  I  fear,  permanently  unlovely  from  the 
steam  of  the  great  kettles — or  perhaps  I  should  say  permanently 
lovely  nov\r  that  one  knows  the  cause  of  the  branding.  I  offered  to 
pour  in  her  place  and  she  assented. 

The  men  came  up  to  the  little  bar.  I  began  to  pour.  I  had 
thought  I  was  about  to  do  them  a  service.  I  knew  with  tlie  first  cup 
that  it  was  they  who  were  doing  me  one.  All  the  unrest  and  misery 
of  my  idle  if  observing  days  in  France  was  leaving  me,  I  was 
pushing  back  the  recollection  with  the  sweetness  of  physical  effort. 
I  was  at  work.  There  is  no  living  in  France — or  anywhere  now — 
unless  one  is  at  work.  I  served  and  served  and  urged  fresh  cups 
upon  them.  They  thought  I  was  generous — I  could  not  tell  them 
that  I  had  not  known  a  happy  instant  till  tliis  coffee  pouring  time. 
I  had  not  recognized  that  it  was  toiling  with  the  hands  that  would 
bring  a  surcease  to  the  beating  of  queries  at  my  bewildered  brain. 
There  are  no  answers  to  this  war.  One  can  only  labor  for  it  and 
so,  strangely,  forget  it. 

Late  that  afternoon  I  had  a  cup  of  tea  in  a  ground  floor  room 
of  a  big  Parisian  hotel  which  has  been  freely  assigned  to  an 
American  woman  for  the  least  known  of  all  our  relief  work.  I 
had  come  that  I  might  argue  with  her  into  giving  up  her  long 
task  for  a  brief  rest.  My  contention  was  to  have  been  that  she 
could  stop  at  any  time  as  her  work  is  never  recognized.  I  found 
her  doing  up  a  parcel  of  excellent  garments  for  a  man  and  three 
women.  They  were  to  be  assigned  to  the  family  of  a  respected 
painter  of  the  Latin  Quarter.  They  will  never  know  who  is  the 
middleman,  and  it  has  chanced  that  she  has  dined  in  company  with 
her  day's  donation. 

As  I  observed  her  tired  tranquillity  I  felt  my  argument  growing 
pointless.     Whether  it  was  coffee  or  the  unacknowledged  dispenser 


256      DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

of  clothing  to  the  uncrying  needy  it  was  service,  and  though  my 
arm  muscles  ached  I  could  understand  that  it  is  the  idle  boy  in 
Paris  which  does  not  rest  at  night. 

And  so  I  come  to  the  last  sheet  of  the  romance  which  is  serving 
so  humbly  my  war-time  needs.  There  is  space  for  the  dinner 
and  tlie  closing  in  of  the  gentle  night  thanks  to  the  repeated,  fervid 
declarations  of  the  lovers  on  the  other  side  the  paper.  We  had 
been  with  the  men  that  afternoon.  We  were  among  the  officers 
that  evening.  We  dined  at  one  of  the  great  restaurants  which  has 
timorously  reopened  its  doors  to  find  eager  families  ready  to  feast 
honored  sons.  At  one  table  sat  three  generations,  the  fatlier  of 
the  boy  concealing  his  pride  with  a  Gallic  interest  in  the  menu,  but 
the  grandfather  futilely  stabbed  the  snails  as  his  gleaming  old  eyes 
kept  at  attention  upon  the  be-medaled  lad.  Pretty  women,  too, 
were  there,  subdued  in  costuming  but  with  that  amiable  acceptance 
of  their  position  which  is  not  to  be  found  among  the  more  eager 
"lost  ones"  of  other  countries.  And  I  enjoyed  some  relief  in  their 
evidence  once  more,  and  some  inward  and  scarcely  to-be-expressed 
solace  in  the  thought  tliat  those  soldiers  who  henceforth  must  go 
disfigured  through  a  fastidious  world  can  ever  buy  companionship. 

There  was  a  theater  attached  to  the  restaurant.  Through  the 
glass  doors  we  could  see  an  iridescence  of  scant  costumes,  but 
the  audience  was  light,  and  we  ourselves  preferred,  as  a  more 
satisfactory  ending  to  our  day,  to  walk  quietly  toward  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe  which  is  waiting,  waiting  for  fresh  glories.  On  the 
other  side  of  this  last  sheet  of  paper  my  lovers  had  so  walked  to- 
gether. But  upon  looking  over  their  passionate  adventures  I  have 
discovered,  at  last,  why  the  romance  has  never  found  a  market. 
On  one  side  and  then  on  the  other  I  have  read  and  reread  the  two 
experiences.     Yes,  I  find  the  Zot^e-story  curiously  lacking  in  love. 


N 


VNITED  STATES— UNTERMEYER  257 


CHILDREN  OF  WAR 

OT  for  a  transient  victory,  or  some 

Stubborn  belief  that  we  alone  are  right; 
Not  for  a  code  or  conquest  do  we  fight. 

But  for  tlie  crowded  millions  still  to  come. 

This,  unborn  generations,  is  your  war. 

Although  it  is  our  blood  that  pays  the  price. 
Be  worthy,  children,  of  our  sacrifice, 

And  dare  to  make  your  lives  worth  fighting  for. 

We  give  up  all  we  love  diat  you  may  loathe 
Intrigue  and  darkness,  that  you  may  disperse 
The  ranks  of  ugly  tyrannies  and,  worse. 

The  sodden  languor  and  complacent  sloth. 


Do  not  betray  us,  then,  but  come  to  be 

Creation's  crowning  splendor,  not  its  slave; 
Knowing  our  lives  were  spent  to  keep  you  brave, 

And  that  our  deaths  were  meant  to  make  you  free. 

Courtesy  Collier's  Weekly. 


258  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


KHAKI-BOY 

WHERE  the  torrent  of  Broadway  leaps  highest  in  folly  and 
tlie  nights  are  riddled  with  incandescent  tire  and  chewing 
gum  signs;  jazz  bands  and  musical  comedies  to  the  ticket  specu- 
lators' tune  of  five  dollars  a  seat,  My  Kliaki-Boy,  covered  with 
die  golden  hoar  of  three  hundred  Metropolitan  nights  rose  to  tlie 
slightly  off  key  grand  fiiiale  of  its  eighty-first  matinee,  curtain 
slithering  down  to  the  rub-a-dud-dub  of  a  score  of  pink  satin 
drummer  boys  with  slim  ankles  and  curls;  a  Military  Sextette  of 
the  most  blooded  of  Broadway  ponies;  a  back  ground  of  purple 
eye-lidded  privates  enlisted  from  the  ranks  of  Forty-Second  Street; 
a  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollar  a  week  satorial  sergeant  in  khaki 
and  spotlight,  embracing  a  ninety  poimd  ingenue  in  rhinestone 
shoulder-straps.  The  tired  business  man  and  his  lady  friend,  the 
Bronx  and  his  wife,  Adelia  Ohio,  Dead  heads.  Bald  heads.  Sore 
heads,  Suburbanites,  Sybarites;  the  poor  dear  public  making  exit 
sadder  than  wiser. 

On  the  unpainted  side  of  the  down  slithering  curtain,  a  canvas 
mountain-side  was  already  rumbling  rearward  on  castors.  An 
overhead  of  foliage  jerked  suddenly  higher,  revealed  a  vista  of 
brick  wall.  A  soldiers'  encampment,  tents  and  all,  rolled  up  like 
a  window  shade.  The  ninety  pound  ingenue,  withholding  her 
silver-lace  Bouncings  from  the  raw  edges  of  moving  landscape, 
high-stepped  to  a  rearward  dressing  room;  the  khaki  clad  hero 
brushing  past  her  and  the  pink  satin  drummer  boys  for  first  place 
down  a  spiral  staircase. 

Miss  Blossom  De  Voe,  pinkest  of  satin  drummer  boys,  withdrew 
an  affronted  elbow,  the  comers  of  her  mouth  quivering  slightly, 


V  NIT  ED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HURST    259 

possibly  of  tlieir  own  richness.  They  were  dewy,  fruit-like  lips, 
as  if  Nature  were  smiling  with  them  at  her  own  handiwork. 

"Say,  somebody  around  here  better  look  where  he's  going  or 
mama's  khaki-boy  will  be  calling  for  an  arnica  high-ball.  What 
does  he  think  I  yam,  the  six  o'clock  subway  rush?" 

Miss  Elaine  Vavasour  wound  down  the  spiral  ahead  of  Miss 
De  Voe,  the  pink  satin  blouse  already  in  the  removing. 

"Go  suck  a  quince,  Bios.  It's  good  for  crazy  bone  and  fallen 
arch." 

"If  you  was  any  funnier,  Elaine,  you'd  float,"  said  Miss  De  Voe 
withdrawing  a  hair  pin  as  she  wound  downward,  an  immediate 
avalanche  of  springy  curls  released. 

Beneath  the  stage  of  tlie  Gotham  Theater  a  corridor  of  dressing 
rooms  ran  the  musty  subterranean  length  of  the  sub  cellar.  A 
gaseous  gloomy  dampness  here;  tliis  cave  of  tlie  purple  lidded,  so 
far  below  the  level  of  reality. 

At  the  door  of  Miss  De  Voe's  eight  by  ten,  shared  by  four, 
dressing  room,  one  of  the  back  drop  of  privates,  erect,  square- 
backed,  head  thrown  up  by  the  deep-dipping  cap  vizor,  emerged  at 
sight  of  her,  lifted  hat  revealing  a  great  permanent  wave  of  hair 
that  could  only  be  bom  not  bought. 

"H'lo,  Hal." 

"Hello,  Blossum." 

"Whose  hot  water  bottle  did  you  come  to  borrow?" 

"Hot  water  bottle?" 

"Yeh,  you  look  like  you  got  the  double  pneumonia  and  each 
one  of  the  pneumonia's  got  the  tooth  ache.  Who  stole  your  kite, 
ikkie  boy?" 

Mr.  Hal  Sanderson  flung  up  a  fine  impatient  head,  the  perma- 
nent hair-wave  lifting, 

"We'll  can  the  comedy,  Blossum,"  he  said. 


260     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

She  lowered  to  a  mock  curtesy,  mouth  skewed  to  control 
laughter,  arms  akimbo. 

"We  will  now  sing  psalm  twenty-three." 

"Come  to  supper  with  me,  Bloss?  You  been  dodging  me  pretty 
steady  here  lately." 

She  clapped  her  hand  to  her  brow,  plastering  a  curl  there. 

"Migaw,  I  am  now  in  the  act  of  dropping  thirty  cents  and  ten 
cents  tip  into  my  Pig  Bank.  Will  I  go  to  supper  with  him?  Say, 
darling,  will  the  Hudson  flow  by  Grant's  monument  to-night  at 
twelve?  On  a  Saturday  matinee  he  asks  me  to  supper  with  a 
question  mark." 

"Honest,  Bloss,  you'd  hand  a  fellow  a  ha  ha  if  he  invited  you 
to  his  funeral." 

She  sobered  at  that,  leaning  against  tlie  cold,  plastered  wall, 
winding  one  of  the  shining  curls  about  her  fore  finger. 

"What's  the  matter— Hal?" 

He  handed  her  a  torn  newspaper  sheet,  blue  penciled. 

She  took  it  but  did  not  glance  down. 

"Drafted?" 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

The  voice  of  a  soubrette  trilling  snatches  of  her  topical  song 
as  she  creamed  off  her  make-up,  came  to  tliem  tlirough  the 
sulky  gloom  of  the  corridor.  Behind  the  closed  door  of  Miss  De 
Voe's  dressing  room,  the  gabble  of  the  pink  satin  ponies  was  like 
hash  in  the  chopping.  Overhead,  moving  scenery  created  a  remote 
sort  of  thunder.  She  stood  looking  up  at  him,  her  young  mouth 
parted. 

"I — oh,  Hal — well — ^well,  whatta  you  know  about  that — ^Hal 
Sanderson — drafted." 

He  stepped  closer,  the  pallor  coming  out  stronger  in  his  face, 
enclosed  her  wrist,  pressing  it. 


UISITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HURST    261 


"Grover's  drafted  too." 
"Grover— too?" 


"He's  three  thousand  and  one.     Ten  numbers  before  me." 

Her  irises  were  growing,  blackening. 

"Well,  whatta  you  know  about  that?  Grover  White,  the  world's 
dancing  tenor,  and  Hal  Sanderson  the  world  dancing  tenor's  under- 
study, drafted!  The  little  tin  soldiers  are  covered  with  rust, 
and  Uncle  Sam  is  going  to — " 

"Hurr)-,  Bloss,  get  into  your  duds.  I  want  to  talk.  Hurry. 
We'll  eat  over  at  Ramy's."       . 

She  turned  but  flung  out  an  arm,  grasping  now  his  wrist. 

"I — oh,  Hal — I — I  just  never  was  so — so  sad  and  so — so  glad!" 

The  door  opened  to  a  slit  enclosing  her.  In  his  imitation  uni- 
form, hand  on  empty  cartridge  belt,  Mr.  Hal  Sanderson  stood  there 
a  moment,  his  face  whitening,  tightening. 

In  Ramy's  glorified  basement,  situated  in  one  of  the  Forties 
which  flow  like  tributaries  into  the  heady  waters  of  Broadway,  one 
may  dine  from  soup  to  nuts,  raisins  and  regrets  for  one  hour  and 
sixty  cents.  In  Ramy's,  courses  may  come  and  courses  may  go, 
but  the  initiated  one  holds  on  to  his  fork  forever.  Here  red  wine 
flows  like  water,  being  ninety-nine  per  cent.,  just  that. 

Across  a  water  tumbler  of  ruby  contents.  Miss  Blossom  De  Voe, 
tlie  turbulent  curls  all  piled  up  beneath  a  slightly  dusty  but  highly 
effective  amelliyst  velvet  hat,  regarded  Mr,  Sanderson,  her  perfect 
lips  trembling  as  it  were,  against  an  actual  nausea  of  the  spirit 
which  seemed  to  pull  at  them. 

"Whadda  you  putting  things  up  to  me  for,  Hal?  You're  old 
enough  to  know  your  own  business." 

Blue  shaved,  too  correct  in  one  of  Broadway's  black  and  white 
checked  Campus  Suits,  his  face  as  cleanly  chisled  and  thrust  for- 


262     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ward  as  a  Discobolus,  Mr.  Sanderson  patted  an  open  letter  spread 
out  on  the  table  cloth  between  them,  his  voice  rising  carefully 
above  tlie  din  of  diners. 

"There's  fellows  claiming  exemption  every  hour  of  the  day 
that  ain't  got  this  much  to  show,  Bloss.  I  was  just  wise  enough  to 
see  these  things  and  get  ready  for  'era." 

"You  ain't  your  mother's  sole  support.  What  about  them 
snapshots  of  the  two  farms  of  hers  out  in  Ohio  you  gave  me?" 

"But  I  got  to  be  in  this  country  to  take  charge  of  her  affairs  for 
her — my  mother's  old,  honey — ain't  I  the  one  to  manage  for  her? 
Only  child  and  all  that.     Honest,  Bloss,  you  need  a  brick  house." 

"Well,  that  old  man  lawyer  that  wrote  that  letter  has  been 
doing  it  all  the  time,  why  all  of  a  sudden  should  you — " 

He  cast  his  eyes  ceilingward,  flopping  his  hands  down  loosely 
to  the  table  in  an  attitude  of  mock  exliaustion, 

"Oh,  Lord,  Bloss,  lemme  whistle  it,  maybe  you  can  catch  on 
then.  Brains,  honey,  little  Hal's  brains  is  what  got  that  letter 
there  written.  I  seen  this  coming  from  the  minute  conscription 
was  in  the  air.  Little  Hal  seen  it  coming,  and  got  out  his  little 
hatchet.  Try  to  prove  that  I  ain't  the  sole  one  to  take  charge  of 
my  mother's  affairs.  Try  to  prove  it.  That's  what  I  been  fixing 
for  myself  these  two  months,  try  to — " 

"Sh-h-h-h,  Charley—" 

"Brains  is  what  done  it, — every  little  thing  of  my  mother's  is  in 
my  care.  I  fixed  it.  Now  little  Blossy-blossum  will  you  be 
good?" 

He  regarded  her  with  cocked  head  and  face  receptive  for  her 
approval.     "Now  will  you  be  good!" 

She  sat  loosely,  meeting  his  gaze,  but  her  face  as  relaxed  as  her 
attitude.     A  wintry  stare  had  set  in. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I  see."     And  turned  away  her  head. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HURST    263 

He  reached  closer  across  the  table,  regardless  of  the  conglom- 
erate diners  about,  felt  for  her  hand  which  lay  limp  and  cold 
beside  her  plate,  and  which  she  withdrew. 

"Darling,"  he  said,  straining  for  her  gaze. 

"Don't,  Hal." 

"Darling,  don't  you  see?  It's  fate  knocking  at  our  door. 
There's  not  a  chance  Grover  can  get  exemption.  He  ain't  even 
got  a  fifth  cousin  or  a  flat-foot!" 

"Maybe  he  could  claim  exemption  on  dandruff." 

"I'm  serious,  honey.  It's  going  to  be  one  of  those  cases  where 
an  understudy  wakes  up  to  find  himself  famous.  I  can't  fail  if 
I  get  this  chance,  Bloss.  It's  the  moment  I  been  drudging  for, 
for  five  solid  years.  I  never  was  in  such  voice  as  now,  I  never 
was  so  fit.  Not  an  ounce  of  fat.  Not  a  song  in  the  part  I  don't 
know  backwards.  I  tell  you  it's  the  hand  of  fate,  Bloss,  giving 
us  a  hand-out.  I  can  afford  now,  darling,  to  make  good  with 
you.  On  three  fifty  a  week  I  can  ask  a  little  queen  like  you  to 
double  up  with  me.  From  thirty-five  to  three  fifty!  I  tell  you 
honey,  we're  made.  I'm  going  to  dress  my  little  dolly  in  clodi 
of  gold  and  silver  fox.  I'm  going  to  perch  her  in  tlie  suite  de 
luxe  of  the  swellest  hotel  in  town.     I'm — " 

She  pushed  back  from  the  table,  turning  more  broadly  from 
him. 

"Don't,"  she  said  pressing  her  kerchief  against  her  lips. 

He  sat  back,  the  rims  of  his  eyes  widening. 

"Why — why  wliat's  the  matter,  Bloss?  Why — why,  what's  the 
matter?" 

"Don't  talk  to  me  for  a  minute,"  she  said,  still  in  profile;  "I'll  be 
all  right,  only  don't  talk." 

"Why,  Bloss,  you— sick?" 

She  shook  her  head.     "No.     No." 


264      DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"You  ain't  getting  cold  feet  now  Uiat  we  got  the  thing  before 
us — in  our  hand?" 

"I  dunno.  I  dunno.  I — don't  want  nothing.  That's  all,  noth- 
ing but  to  be  left  alone." 

He  sucked  his  lips  inward,  biting  at  them. 

"Don't — don't  think  I  ain't  noticed,  Bloss,  that  you — you  ain't 
been  the  same — that  you  been  different — for  weeks.  Sometimes 
I  think  maybe  you're  going  cold  on — on  this  long  engagement  stuff. 
That's  why  this  thing  is  breaking  just  right  for  us,  honey.  I 
felt  you  slippin'  a  little.  I'm  ready  now,  Peaches,  we  can't 
go  taxi-cabbing  down  for  that  license  none  too  soon  to  suit 
me." 

She  shook  her  head,  beating  softly  with  one  small  fist  into  her 
other  palm. 

"No,  Hal,"  she  said,  her  mouth  tightening  and  drawing  down. 

"Why— why,  Bloss!" 

Suddenly  she  faced  him,  her  hands  both  fists  now,  and  coming 
down  with  a  force  that  shivered  the  china. 

"You — you  ain't  a  man,  you  ain't.  You  ain't  a  man,  you — 
you're  a  slacker!  You're  a  slacker,  that's  what  you  are,  and 
Gawd,  how  I — how  I  hate  a  slacker!" 

"Bloss — why,  girl — you — you're  era — " 

"Oh,  I've  known  it.  Deep  down  inside  of  me  I've  known  it  since 
the  day  we  found  ourselves  in  the  mess  of  this  war.  I  knew  it, 
and  all  these  months  kept  kidding  myself  that  maybe — you — 
wasn't." 

"You—" 

"Thought  maybe  when  you'd  read  the  newspapers  enough  and 
heard  the  khaki-boys  on  the  street  comers  enough,  and  listened  to 
— to  your  country  pleading  enough  that — that  you'd  rise  up  to 
show  you  was  a  man.     I  knew  all  these  months  down  inside  of  me 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HURST    265 

that  you  was  a  slacker,  but  I  kept  hopin.     Gawd,  how  I  kept 

hopin'." 

"You— you  can't  talk  to  me  that  way!     You're—" 
"Can't  I!     Ha!     Anybody  can  talk  any  old  way  to  a  slacker 
he  wants  to  and  then  not  say  enough.     You  ain't  got  no  guts  you- 
you're  yellow,  that's  what  you  are,  you—" 
"Blossum!" 

"You,  sneaking  up  to  me  with  trumped  up  exemption  stuff  when 
your  country's  talking  her  great  heart  out  of  her  for  men  to  stand 
by  'er'  Gawd!  If  I  was  a  man— if  I  was  a  man  she  wouldn  t 
have  to  ask  me  twice,  but  before  I  went  marching  off  I'd  take  time 
off  to  help  the  street  cleaning  department  wipe  up  a  few  streets 
widi  the  slackers  I  found  loafing  around  under  a  government  they 
were  afraid  to  fight  for.  I'd  show  'em.  I'd  show  'em  if  a  gov- 
ernment is  good  enough  to  live  mider  it's  good  enough  to  fight 

under.     I'd  show  'em."  jy    r  a 

"If  you  was  a  man,  Blossum,  you'd  eat  those  words.     By  God, 

you'd  eat  'em.     I'm  no  coward — I — " 

"I  know  you're  not,  Hal— that's  why  I— I—" 

"I  got  the  right  to  decide  for  myself  if  I  want  to  fight  when  I 
don't  know  what  I'm  fighting  for.  This  ain't  my  war,  this  am't 
America's  war.  Before  I  fight  in  it  I  want  a  dam  sight  to  know 
what  I'm  fighting  for,  and  not  all  the  street  comer  rah  rah  stut^ 
has  told  me  yet.  I  ain't  a  bull  to  go  crazy  with  a  lot  of  red  waved 
in  my  face.     I've  got  no  blood  to  spill  in  the  other  fellow's  battle. 

I'm—" 

"No,  but  you — " 

"I'm  at  a  point  in  my  life  that  I've  worked  like  a  dog  to  reach. 
Let  the  fellows  that  love  the  hero  stuff  give  up  their  arms  and  their 
legs  and  the  breath  that's  in  them  for  something  they  don't  know 
the  meaning  of.     Because  some  big-gun  of  a  Emperor  out  in  Aus- 


266     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

tria  was  assassinated,  I  ain't  going  to  bleed  to  death  for  it.  It's  us 
poor  devils  that  get  the  least  out  of  the  government  that  right  away 
are  called  on  to  give  the  most,  it's  us — " 

"Hal,  ain't — ain't  you  ashamed!" 

"No.  I  ain't  ashamed  and  I  ain't  afraid.  You  know  it  ain't 
because  I'm  afraid.  I've  licked  more  fellows  in  my  time  than 
most  fellows  can  boast.  I — I  got  the  Fifty-fifth  Street  fire  rescue 
medal  to  my  credit  if  anybody  should  ask  you.  I — I — ask  any- 
body from  my  town  if  any  kid  in  it  ever  licked  me.  But  I  ain't 
going  to  fight  when  I  ain't  got  a  grudge  against  no  man.  Call  that 
being  a  coward  if  you  like,  but  then  you  and  me  don't  speak  the 
same  language." 

Her  silence  seemed  to  give  off  an  icy  vapor. 

"That's  what  they  all  say,"  she  said.  "It's  like  hiding  behind 
a  petticoat,  hiding  behind  a  defense  like  that.  Sure  you  ain't  got 
a  grudge.  Maybe  you  don't  know  what  it's  all  about — God  knows 
who  does.  Nobody  can  deny  that.  There  ain't  nothing  reason- 
able about  war,  if  there  was  there  wouldn't  be  none.  That  talk 
don't  get  you  nowheres.  The  proposition  is  that  we're  at  war, 
whatever  you  or  anybody  else  may  think  of  it." 

"That's  just  it — we  didn't  have  no  say-so." 

"Just  the  same,  Hal  Sanderson,  this  great  big  grand  country 
of  ours  is  at  war,  and  needs  you.  It  ain't  what  you  think  any  more 
that  counts.  Before  we  was  in  war  you  could  talk  all  you  wanted, 
but  now  that  we're  in,  there's  only  one  thing  to  do,  only  one,  and 
not  all  your  fine  talk  about  peace  can  change  it.  One  thing  to 
do.     Fight!" 

"No  government  can  make  me — " 

"If  you  want  peace  now  it's  up  to  you  to  help  make  it,  a  new 
peace  and  a  grander  peace,  not  go  baying  to  the  moon  after  a  peace 
that  ain't  no  more." 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HURST    267 

"You  better  get  a  soap  box.  If  this  is  tlie  way  you  got  of  trying 
to  get  out  of  sometliing  you're  sorry  for,  I'll  let  you  off  easier — 
you  don't  need  to  try  to — " 

She  regarded  him  with  her  lips  quivering,  a  quick  layer  of  tears 
forming,  trembling  and  venturing  to  the  edge  of  her  lashes. 

"Hal — Hal — a — a  fellow  that  I've  banked  on  like  I  have  you! 
It  ain't  that — you  know  it  ain't.  I  could  have  waited  for  ten  times 
this  long.  It's  only  I — I'm  ashamed,  Hal.  Ashamed.  There 
ain't  been  a  single  gap  in  the  chorus  from  one  of  the  men  enlisting 
that  my  heart  ain't  just  dropped  in  my  shoes  like  dough.  I  never 
envied  a  girl  in  my  life  the  way  I  did  Elaine  Vavasour  when  she 
stood  on  the  curb  at  the  Battery  the  other  day  crying  and  watching 
Charlie  Kirkpatrick  go  marching  off.  Charlie  was  a  pacifist,  too, 
as  long  as  the  country  was  out  of  war,  and  there  was  something  to 
argue  about.  The  minute  the  question  was  settled,  he  shut  up, 
buckled  on  his  belt  and  went!  That's  the  kind  of  a  pacifist  to  be. 
The  kind  of  fellow  that  when  he  sees  peace  slipping,  buckles  on  and 
starts  out  for  a  new  peace;  a  realer  peace.  That's  the  kind  of  a 
fellow  I  thought  you — you — " 

Her  voice  broke  then  abruptly,  in  a  rain  of  tears,  and  she  raised 
the  crook  of  her  arm  to  her  face  with  the  gesture  of  a  child.  "That 
— that's  tlie  kind  of  a  fellow  I — I — " 

His  cigarette  discarded  and  curling  up  in  a  little  column  of 
smoke  between  them,  he  sat  regarding  her,  a  heavy  surge  of  red 
rising  above  the  impeccable  white  of  his  collar  into  the  roots  of 
his  hair.  It  was  as  if  her  denouncement  had  come  down  in  a  welt 
across  his  face. 

"Nobody  ever — nobody  ever  dared  to  talk  like  this  to  me 
before.  Nobody  ever  dared  to  call  me  a  coward.  Nobody.  Be- 
cause it  ain't  so!" 

"I  know  it  ain't,  Hal.     If  it  was  could  I  have  been  so  strong  for 


268  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

you  all  these  months?  I  knew  the  way  you  showed  yourseK  in 
the  Fifty-fifth  Street  fire.  I  read  about  it  in  the  papers  before  I 
ever  knew  you.  I — I  know  the  way  you  mauled  Ed  Stein,  twice 
your  size,  tlie  night  he  tried  to — to  get  fresh  with  me.  I  know  you 
ain't  a  slacker  in  your  heart,  Hal,  but  I — I  couldn't  marry  a  man 
that  got  fake  exemption.  Couldn't,  no  matter  how  it  broke  my 
heart  to  see  him  go  marching  off!     Couldn't!     Couldn't!" 

"That's  what  it  means,  Blossum — marching  off!" 

"I  know  it,  but  how — how  could  I  marry  a  man  that  wasn't  fit 
to  wear  his  country's  uniform  even  in  a  show.  I — I  couldn't  marry 
a  man  like  that  if  it  meant  the  solid  gold  suite  in  the  solid  goldest 
hotel  in  this  town.     I  couldn't  marry  a — a  fake  khaki-boy!" 

"Ain't  there  no  limit,  Bloss,  to  the  way  you  can  make  a  fellow 
feel  like  dirt  under  your  feet?     My  God!  ain't  there  no  limit?" 

"There — there's  nothing  on  earth  can  make  a  man  of  you,  Hal, 
nothing  on  God's  earth  but  War!  Every  once  in  a  while  there's 
some  little  reason  seems  to  spring  up  for  there  bein'  a  war.  You're 
one  of  them  reasons,  Hal,  Down  in  my  heart  I  know  it  that  you'll 
come  back,  and  when  I  get  a  hunch  it's  a  hunch!  Down  in  my 
heart  I  know  it,  dear,  that  you'll  come  back  to  me.  But  you'll 
come  back  a  man,  you'll  come  back  with  the  yellow  streak  pure 
gold,  you'll — you'll  come  back  to  me  pure  gold,  dear.  I  know  it. 
I  know  it." 

His  head  was  back  as  if  his  throat  were  open  to  the  stroke  of  her 
words,  but  there  was  that  growing  in  his  face  which  was  enormous, 
translucent,  even  apogean. 

He  tore  up  the  paper  between  them,  slowly,  and  in  criss  crosses. 

"And  you,  Blossum?"  he  said,  not  taking  his  eyes,  with  their 
growing  lights,  off  her. 

"Wliy,  I'll  be  waiting,  Hal,"  she  said,  the  pink  coming  out  to 
flood  her  face,  "I'll  be  waiting — Sweetheart." 


THE   MAHIUED   SLACKER 


She  (ri'ailini/) — "At  .i:!!),  the  barnc'c  was  raised,  ami  Un'  Viiicricans  advanced  to 
att«ek.  rile  Ion,'  line  moved  forward  like  the  steady  on-sweep  ol  tlie  tide  —  iinwaver- 
in;;.  irresistible,  iniplaiahle."  Oli,  isn't  it  perfectly  wonderfull  I  knew  our  men 
would  fifflit  gloriously!     And  just  list«>n  to  this: 


Sin;  (niuliiui)  -  "  The  (iermans  fou^'hl  desperately  but  tlie  American  lines  never 
wavertKl  in  their  onward  lourse.  Sometimes  thi-  broad  sirelch  of  the  batlletield  was 
enveloped  in  ^rcat  volumes  of  smoke,  but  a  moment  later,  as  the  air  c'leared.  the 
same  lines  weri'  to  1h^  si'cn  movint;  onward.  At  6:15.  the  sound  of  cheering  was 
heard  amidst  the  din  of  the  battle  and  a  few  mouient.s  later,  the  nies-sage  was  sent 
back  that  the  AiiK^rican  troops  had  captured  the  great  German  position." 


Shr  (rriiilimi)-  "The  American  victory  of  yesterday  may  well  mark  llie  lM>t.'inninK' 
of  the  end  of  the  war.  lx>Md<)n  and  Paris  arc  rin^iinn  with  Ihi-  praises  of  (In-  \meri- 
can  soldiers.  I'residcnt  \\  ilson  has  proclaimed  a  national  holiday  in  celebration  of  the 
triumph,  and  the  Anieri»in  soldier  has  won  imperishable  glory  as  a  (ightinK  man." 


VmTED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— JOHNSON.    269 
HYMN  FOR  AMERICA 

Air:    "Scots  wha  hae  wC  Wallace  blei' 

WHERE'S  the  man,  in  all  the  earth- 
Man  of  want  or  man  of  worth — 
Who  shall  now  to  rank  or  birth 

Knee  of  homage  bend? 
Though  he  war  with  chance  or  fate. 
If  his  heart  be  free  of  hate. 
If  his  soul  with  love  be  great. 

He  shall  be  our  friend. 

Where's  the  man,  of  wealth  or  wage. 
Dare  be  traitor  to  his  age. 
To  the  people's  heritage 

Won  by  war  and  woe, — 
Counting  but  as  private  good 
All  the  gain  of  brotherhood 
By  the  base  so  long  withstood? 

He  shall  be  our  foe. 

Wliere's  the  man  that  does  not  feel 
Freedom  as  the  common  weal, 
Duty's  sword  the  only  steel 

Can  the  battle  end? 
Comrades,  chant  in  unison 
Creed  the  noblest  'neath  the  sun: 
"One  for  all  and  all  for  one," 

Till  each  foe  be  friend. 

^^^Jb$»^  ^iKi6»>u>z>ci<  /f/O^i-JSan. 


270  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

THE  BREAKING  OUT  OF  THE  FLAGS 

IT  is  April, 
And  the  snow  lingers  on  the  dark  sides  of  evergreens; 
The  grass  is  brown  and  soggy 
With  only  a  faint,  occasional  overwash  of  green. 
But  under  the  leafless  branches 

The  white  bells  of  snowdrops  are  nodding  and  shaking 
Above  their  green  sheadis. 
Snow,  fir-trees,  snowdrops — stem  and  flower — 
Nature  off"ers  us  only  white  and  green 
At  this  so  early  springtime. 
But  man  gives  more. 

Man  has  unfurled  a  Nation's  flags 

Above  the  city  streets; 

He  has  flung  a  striped  and  starry  symbol  of  bright  colors 

Down  every  curving  way. 

Blossoms  of  War, 

Blossoms  of  Suffering, 

Strange  beautiful  flowers  of  the  New  Year: 

Flags! 

Over  door  lintels  and  cornices. 

Above  peaked  gables  and  flat  mansard-roofs 

Flutter  the  flags. 

The  avenues  are  arcaded  with  them, 

The  narrow  alleys  are  pleached  witli  stripes  and  stars. 

For  War  is  declared. 

And  the  people  gird  themselves 


VNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— LOWELL     271 

Silently — sternly — 

Only  the  flags  make  arabesques  in  the  sunshine. 

Twining  the  red  of  blood  and  the  silver  of  achievement 

Into  a  gay,  waving  pattern 

Over  the  awful,  miflinching  Destiny 

Of  War. 

The  flags  ripple  and  jar 

To  the  tramp  of  marching  men, 

To  the  rumble  of  caissons  over  cobblestones. 

From  seaboard  to  seaboard 

And  beyond,  across  the  green  waves  of  the  sea. 

They  flap  and  fly. 

Men  plant  potatoes  and  click  typewriters 

In  the  shadow  of  tliem. 

And  khaki-clad  soldiers 

Lift  their  eyes  to  the  garish  red  and  blue 

And  turn  back  to  their  khaki  tasks 

Refreshed. 

America, 

The  clock  strikes. 

The  spring  is  upon  us. 

The  seed  of  our  forefathers 

Quickens  again  in  the  soil, 

And  these  flags  are  the  small,  early  flowers 

Of  the  solstice  of  our  Hope! 

Thru  suff"ering  to  Peace! 
Thru  sacrifice  to  Security! 
Red  stripes. 


272     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 

Turn  us  not  from  our  purpose. 
Lead  us  up  as  by  a  ladder 
To  the  deep  blue  quiet 
Wherein  are  shining 
The  silver  stars. 

Soldiers,  sailors,  clerks,  and  office  boys, 

Men,  and  Women — but  not  children. 

No!  Not  children! 

Let  these  march 

With  their  paper  caps  and  toy  rifles 

And  feel  only  the  panoply  of  War — 

But  the  others, 

Welded  and  forged, 

Seared,  melted,  broken. 

Molded  without  flaw. 

Slowly,  faithfully  pursuing  a  Purpose, 

A  Purpose  of  Peace, 

Even  into  the  very  flame  of  Death. 
Over  the  city. 
Over  all  the  cities, 
Flutter  flags. 
Flags  of  spring. 


Flags  of  burgeoning. 
Flags  of  fulfilment. 


— ^7ot.«-fc-y     ^<  p  t*.' **'%-<^  . 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— MRS.  LANE    273 


I 


OUR  DAY 

London,  April  20,  1917 

T  was  the  evening  of  our  Day;  that  young  April  day  when  in  the 
_  solemn  vastnesses  of  St.  Paul's  were  held  the  services  to  mark 
America's  historic  entrance  into  the  Great  World  War.  Across 
the  mighty  arch  of  the  Chancel  on  either  side  hung  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  and  the  Union  Jack. 

From  the  organ  pealed  those  American  songs  to  which  half  a 
century  ago,  in  another  war  for  Freedom,  men  marched  to  battle, 
and,  even  if  by  ways  of  defeat  and  death,  to  ultimate  Victory. 
How  many  there  were  tliat  April  day  for  whom  the  sight  of  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  was  blurred  with  tears.  How  the  familiar  airs 
and  simple  words  pained  us  with  the  memory  of  our  distant  homes. 
Perhaps  for  the  first  time  we  understood  the  solemn  significance  of 
this  dedication  to  war  of  what  we  hardly  knew  was  so  unspeakably 

dear. 

In  the  Crypt  of  St.  Paul's,  Mausoleum  of  England's  greatest 
soldier  and  sailor  heroes,  their  ashes  rest  who  once  fought  and 
conquered.  If  it  is  given  to  those  who  have  gone  before  to  hear 
our  human  appeal,  perhaps  the  immortal  spirits  of  Nelson,  of  Wel- 
lington, of  Kitchener,  whose  tragic  fate  is  its  unfulfilled  destmy, 
may  have  rested  like  an  inspiration  on  that  kindred  nation  offering 
the  sacrifice  of  all  it  holds  most  sacred  to  the  cause  of  Divine 

Justice. 

After  the  solemn  benediction  thousands  streamed  slowly  out  to 
mingle  with  the  multitudes  gathered  before  the  great  Entrance 
where  Queen  Anne  in  crown  and  scepter  keeps  majestic  guard, 
and  where  in  peaceful  days  doves  flit  and  flutter  down  to  peck  at 
the  grain  strewn  about  her  royal  feet. 


274     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Stem  and  momentous  times  have  passed  over  that  old,  gray 
Cathedral;  times  of  a  Nation's  grief  and  a  Nation's  rejoicing.  But 
of  all  such  days,  in  its  centuries  of  existence,  none  has  been  so 
momentous  for  the  destiny  of  the  Empire  as  that  sunny  April  day. 
And  yet — and  yet — perhaps  more  touching,  more  solemn,  even 
than  the  High  Service  at  St.  Paul's,  that  which  stirred  Americans 
even  more  who  love  England  with  only  a  lesser  love,  and  made  us 
realize  as  never  before  what  America  stands  for,  joint  defender 
now  of  the  new  Civilization,  was  the  silent  symbol  of  her  dedication 
to  tlie  Cause  of  Human  Freedom,  for  all  London  to  see  and  on 
which,  seeing,  to  reflect.  It  was  the  symbol  of  that  for  which 
Statesmen  who  were  also  prophets,  have  lived  and  toiled. 

It  rose  against  the  glowing  West,  never  to  be  forgotten  by  those 
who  saw  it  at  the  close  of  Our  Day,  for  it  marked  the  new  Epoch. 

Now  at  last  "Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  Dead." 

Along  Whitehall,  down  Parliament  Street,  and  where  towards 
the  left  Westminster  Bridge  spans  its  immortal  river,  stand  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  tlieir  delicate  tracery  of  stonework  etched 
against  the  sunset  sky. 

Hurrying  crowds,  released  from  the  day's  toil,  stopped  here,  as 
if  by  a  common  impulse,  to  gaze  upwards,  and,  gazing  in  silent 
wonder,  they  saw  such  a  sight  as  London  has  never  seen  before. 
On  the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  Victoria  tower  where  the  flag  of 
another  nation  has  never  before  shared  its  proud  eminence  there 
floated  together  from  one  flagstaff"  Old  Glory  and  the  Union  Jack. 

That  was  America's  supreme  consecration. 

(Mrs,  John  Lane) 


DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

btern  and  momentous  times  have  passed  over  that  old,  gray 
Calhedral;  times  of  a  Nation's  grief  and  a  Nation's  rejoicing.  But 
of  all  such  days,  in  its  centuries  of  existence,  none  has  been  so 
momentous  for  the  destiny  of  the  Empire  as  that  sunny  April  day. 
Aiid  yet — and  yet — perhaps  more  touching,  more  solemn,  even 
than  the  High  Service  at  St.  Paul's,  that  which  stirred  Americans 
even  more  who  love  England  with  only  a  lesser  love,  and  made  us 
realize  as  never  before  what  A  lands  for,  joint  defender 

now  of  the  new  Civi ' '  ^  of  her  dedication 

to  the  Cause  ol  Huu-u    i  .  ■  'o  see  and  on 

which,  seeing,  to  r^fifxl.     i  .  it  for  which 

Statesmen  who  were  also  prophets,  have  . 

It  rose  against  the  glowing  West,  never  to  be  by  those 

who  saw  it  at  the  close  of  Our  Day,  for  it  mark''<i  V'le  new  Epoch. 

Now  at  last  "Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  Dead." 

Along  Whitehall WlijLmiVIaSffif^Nv-HOWeLLS  l>.war,U 
the  left  WestngmAfthSOni^tiaipiiaailitt§  hyiWiiMandB-SQiAaM  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  tiieir  delicate  tracery  of  stonework  etched 
against  the  smiset  sky. 

Hurrying  crowds,  released  from  the  day's  toil,  stopped  here,  as 
if  by  a  common  impulse,  to  gaze  upwards,  and,  gazing  in  silent 
wonder,  they  saw  such  a  sight  as  London  has  never  seen  before. 

On  tlie  highest  pinnacle  of  tlie  Victoria  tpv.   -   •' '^     ^'  •    if 

another  nation  has  never  before  shanvJ  its  ?  e 

floated  together  from  one  flagstaff  Old  Glory  and  the  Union  Jack. 

That  was  America's  supreme  consecration. 

(Mrs.  John  Lane) 


VNITED  STATES— McCUTCHEON  275 

POUR  LA  PATRIE 

THEY  were  brothers,  Louis  and  Francois,  standing  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Prussian  commander,  looking  hopelessly  into  his 
cold,  unsmiling  eyes.  For  the  third  time  in  as  many  days  he  was 
bargaining  with  them  for  that  which  God  had  given  them  and  they 
in  turn  had  promised  to  France:  their  lives. 

"Do  not  make  the  mistake  of  thinking  that  we  exalt  you  for  what 
you  may  call  courage,  or  that  your  country  will  sing  your  praises," 
said  the  general  harshly.  "Your  country  will  never  know  how  or 
when  you  die.  You  have  nothing  to  gain  by  dying,  not  even  the 
credit  of  dying." 

Francois  allowed  his  hot,  dry  eyes  to  sweep  slowly  around  the 
group.     He  was  pale,  his  forehead  wet. 

"You  are  soldiers,"  said  he,  his  voice  low  and  steady.  "Is 
there  one  among  you  who  would  do  the  thing  we  are  asked  to  do? 
If  there  is  one  man  here  who  will  stand  forth  in  the  presence  of  his 
comrades  and  say  that  he  would  betray  Germany  as  you  are  asking 
us  to  betray  France, — if  there  is  such  a  man  among  you,  let  him 
speak,  and  then, — then  will  I  do  what  you  ask  of  me." 

A  dozen  pairs  of  hard  implacable  eyes  returned  his  challenge. 
No  man  spoke.     No  man  smiled. 

"You  do  not  even  pretend,"  cried  the  little  poilu.  "Well,  I  too 
am  a  soldier.  I  am  a  soldier  of  France.  It  is  nothing  to  me  that 
I  die  to-day  or  to-morrow,  or  that  my  country  knows  when  or  how. 
Take  me  out  and  shoot  me,"  he  shouted,  facing  tlie  commander. 
"I  am  but  one  poor  soldier.  I  am  one  of  millions.  What  is  my 
little  life  worth  to  you?" 

"Nothing,"  said  tlie  commander.  "Ten  such  as  you  would  not 
represent  the  worth  of  one  German  soldier." 


276     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY, 

"We  say  not  so  over  there,"  said  Frangois  boldly,  jerking  his 
thumb  in  the  direction  of  Pont-a-mousson. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  the  Prussians  about  him  smiled. 

"What  is  it,  pray,  that  you  do  say  over  there?"  inquired  the 
general  mockingly. 

"That  the  worst  of  the  Frenchmen  is  worth  five  of  your  best," 
said  Frangois,  unafraid.  Why  should  he  be  afraid  to  speak  the 
truth?     He  was  going  to  die. 

"And  one  of  your  frog-eating  generals  is  the  equal  of  five  of 
me,  I  suppose?"  The  commander's  grim  face  relaxed  into  a 
smile.     "That  is  good!     Ha-ha!     That  is  good!" 

"So  we  say,  excellency,"  said  Frangois  simply.  "Our  Papa 
Joffre — ah,  he  is  greater  than  all  of  you  put  in  one." 

The  Prussian  flushed.     His  piggish  eyes  glittered. 

"Your  Papa  Joffre!"  he  scoffed. 

"He  is  greater  than  the  Kaiser, — though  I  die  for  saying  it," 
cried  the  little  poilu  recklessly. 

The  commander  turned  his  eyes  from  the  white,  impassioned 
face  of  Frangois  and  looked  upon  the  quivering,  ghastly  visage  of 
the  brother  who  stood  beside  him.  The  fire  that  glowed  in  the 
eyes  of  Francois  was  missing  in  those  of  Louis. 

The  grizzled  Prussian  smiled,  but  imperceptibly.  What  he  saw 
pleased  him.  Louis,  die  big  one,  the  older  of  the  two,  trembled. 
It  was  only  by  tlie  supreraest  effort  that  he  maintained  a  pitiable 
show  of  defiance.  His  face  was  haggard  and  blanched  with  fear; 
there  was  a  hunted,  shifty  look  in  his  narrowed  eyes.  The  gen- 
eral's smile  developed.  It  proffered  comfort,  consolation,  en- 
couragement. 

"And  you,"  he  said,  almost  gently,  "have  not  you  profited  by  the 
reflections  of  your  three  days  of  grace?     Are  you  as  stubborn  as 


V NIT  ED  STATES— McCUTCHEON  277 

this  mule  of  a  brother,  this  foolish  lad  who  spouts  even  poorer 
French  than  I  address  to  you?" 

Frangois  shot  a  quick,  appealing  glance  at  his  big  brother's  face. 
There  were  tiny  rivulets  of  slaver  at  the  comers  of  Louis's  mouth. 

"Louis!"  he  cried  out  sharply. 

Louis  lifted  his  sagging  shoulders.  "I  have  nothing  to  say," 
he  said  thickly,  and  with  the  set  of  his  jaws  Francois  breathed 
deeply  of  relief. 

"So!"  said  the  general,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "I  am  sorry. 
You  are  young  to  die,  you  two.  To  die  on  the  field  of  battle, — 
ah,  that  is  noble!  To  die  with  one's  back  to  a  wall,  blindfolded, 
and  to  be  covered  with  earth  so  loosely  that  starving  dogs  may 
scratch  away  to  feast — But,  no  more.  You  have  decided.  You 
have  had  many  hours  in  which  to  consider  the  alternative.  You 
will  be  shot  at  daybreak." 

The  slight  figure  of  Francois  straightened,  his  chin  went  up. 
His  thin,  dirt-covered  hands  were  tightly  clenched. 

"For  France!"  he  murmured,  lifting  his  eyes  above  the  head  of 
the  Prussian. 

A  vast  shudder  swept  over  tlie  figure  of  Louis,  a  hoarse  gasp 
broke  through  his  lips.  Tlie  commander  leaned  forward,  fixing 
him  with  compelling  eyes. 

"For  France!"  cried  Francois  again,  and  once  more  Louis  lifted 
his  head  to  quaver: 

"For  France!" 

"Take  them  away,"  said  the  commander.  "But  stay!  How 
old  are  you?"     He  addressed  Francois. 

"I  am  nineteen." 

"And  you?" 

Louis's  lips  moved  but  no  sound  issued. 


278     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"My  brother  is  twenty-one,"  said  Francois,  staring  hard  at  Louis. 

"He  has  a  sweetheart  who  will  grieve  bitterly  if  he  does  not  re- 
turn for  her  caresses,  eh?  I  thought  so.  Oh,  you  French!  But 
she  will  soon  recover.  She  will  find  another, — like  that!  So!" 
He  snapped  his  fingers.  "She  will  not  wait  long,  my  good  Louis. 
Take  them  away!" 

Louis's  face  was  livid.  His  chin  trembled,  his  lips  fell  apart 
slackly;  he  lowered  his  eyes  after  an  instant's  contact  with  the 
staimch  gaze  of  his  brother. 

"You  have  until  sunrise  to  change  your  minds,"  said  the  Prus- 
sian, turning  on  his  heel. 

"Sunrise,"  muttered  Louis,  his  head  twitching. 

They  were  led  from  the  walled-in  garden  and  across  the  cobble- 
stones of  the  little  street  that  terminated  in  a  cul  de  sac  just  above. 
Over  the  way  stood  the  shattered  remnants  of  a  building  that  once 
had  been  pointed  to  with  pride  by  the  simple  villagers  as  the  finest 
shop  in  town.  The  day  was  hot.  Worn-out  German  troopers 
sprawled  in  the  shade  of  the  walls,  sound  asleep,  their  mouths  ajar, 
— beardless  boys,  most  of  them. 

"Poor  devils,"  said  Frangois,  as  he  passed  among  them.  He 
too  was  very  young. 

They  were  shoved  through  the  wrecked  doorway  into  tlie  mortar- 
strewn  ruin,  and,  stumbling  over  masses  of  debris,  came  to  the  stone 
steps  that  led  to  the  cellar  below.  Louis  drew  back  with  a  groan. 
He  had  spent  centuries  in  that  foul  pit. 

"Not  there — again!"  he  moaned.  He  was  whimpering  feebly 
as  he  picked  himself  up  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  a  moment  later. 

"Dogs!"  cried  Francois,  glaring  upward  and  shaking  his  fist  at 
the  heads  projecting  into  the  turquoise  aperture  above.  Far  on 
high,  where  the  roof  had  been,  gleamed  the  brilliant  sky.  "Our 
general  will  make  you  pay  one  of  these  days, — our  great  general!" 


UNITED  STATES— McCUTCHEON  279 

Then  he  threw  his  arms  about  his  brother's  shoulders  and — cried 
a  little  too, — not  in  fear  but  in  sympathy. 

The  trap  door  dropped  into  place,  a  heavy  object  fell  upon  it 
with  a  thud,  and  they  were  in  inky  darkness.  There  was  no 
sound  save  the  sobs  of  the  two  boys,  and  later  the  steady  tread  of 
a  man  who  paced  the  floor  overhead, — a  man  who  carried  a  gun. 

They  had  not  seen,  but  they  knew  that  a  dead  man  lay  over  in 
the  comer  near  a  window  chocked  by  a  hundred  tons  of  brick  and 
mortar.  He  had  died  some  time  during  the  second  century  of  their 
joint  occupancy  of  the  black  and  musty  hole.  On  the  28th  he  had 
come  in  with  them,  wounded.  It  was  now  the  31st,  and  he  was 
dead,  having  lived  to  the  age  of  nine  score  years  and  ten!  When 
they  spoke  to  their  guards  at  the  beginning  of  the  third  century, 
saying  that  their  companion  was  dead  and  should  be  carried  away, 
the  Germans  replied: 

"There  is  time  enough  for  that,"  and  laughed, — for  the  Germans 
could  count  the  time  by  hours  out  there  in  the  sunshine.  But  that 
is  not  why  they  laughed. 

A  hidden  French  battery  in  the  wooded,  rocky  hills  off  to  the 
west  had  for  days  kept  up  a  deadly,  unerring  fire  upon  the  German 
positions.  Shift  as  he  would,  the  commander  could  not  escape 
the  shells  from  those  unseen,  undiscovered  guns.  They  followed 
him  with  uncanny  precision.  His  own  batteries  had  searched  in 
vain,  with  thousands  of  shrieking  shells,  for  the  gadfly  gunners. 
They  could  find  him,  but  he  could  not  find  them.  For  every  shell 
he  wasted,  they  returned  one  that  counted. 

Three  French  scouts  fell  into  his  hands  on  the  night  of  the  28th. 
Two  of  them  were  still  alive.     He  had  them  up  before  him  at  once. 

"On  one  condition  will  I  spare  your  lives,"  said  he.  And  that 
condition  had  been  pounded  into  their  ears  with  unceasing  vio- 
lence, day  and  night,  by  oflicers  high  and  low,  since  the  hour  of 


280  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

their  capture.  It  was  a  very  simple  condition,  declared  the  Ger- 
mans. Only  a  stubborn  fool  would  fail  to  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  offered.  The  exact  position  of  that  mysterious  bat- 
tery,— that  was  all  the  general  demanded  in  return  for  his  good- 
ness in  sparing  their  lives.  He  asked  no  more  of  them  than  a  few, 
truthful  words. 

They    had    steadfastly    refused    to   betray    their   countrymen. 

Frangois  could  not  see  his  brother,  but  now  and  then  he  put  out 
a  timid  hand  to  touch  the  shaking  figure.  He  could  not  under- 
stand. Why  was  it  not  the  other  way  about?  Who  was  he  to 
oflfer  consolation  to  the  big  and  strong? 

"Courage,"  he  would  say,  and  then  stare  hard  ahead  into  the 
blackness.  "You  are  great  and  strong,"  he  would  add.  "It  is  I 
who  am  weak  and  little,  Louis.     I  am  the  little  brother." 

"You  have  not  so  much  to  live  for  as  I,"  Louis  would  mutter, 
over  and  over  again. 

Their  hour  drew  near.  "Eat  this,"  persuaded  Frangois,  press- 
ing upon  Louis  tlie  hunk  of  bread  their  captors  had  tossed  down  to 
them. 

"Eat?     God!     How  can  I  eat?" 

"Then  drink.     It  is  not  cold,  but — " 

"Let  me  alone!  Keep  away  from  me!  God  in  heaven,  why  do 
they  leave  that  Jean  Picard  down  here  with  us — " 

"You  have  seen  hundreds  of  dead  men,  Louis,  All  of  them 
were  heroes.  All  of  them  were  brave.  It  was  glorious  to  die  as 
they  died.     Why  should  we  be  afraid  of  death?" 

"But  they  died  like  men,  not  like  rats.  They  died  smiling. 
They  had  no  time  to  think," 

And  then  he  fell  to  moaning.  His  teeth  rattled.  He  turned 
upon  his  face  and  for  many  minutes  beat  upon  the  stone  steps  with 
his  clenched  hands,  choking  out  appeals  to  his  Maker, 


UNITED  STATES— McCUTCHEON  281 

Francois  stood.  His  hot,  unblinking  eyes  tried  to  pierce  the 
darkness.  Tears  of  shame  and  pity  for  this  big  brother  burnt 
their  way  out  and  ran  down  his  cheeks.  He  was  wondering.  He 
was  striving  to  put  away  tlie  horrid  doubt  tliat  was  searing  his  soul: 
the  doubt  of  Louis! 

The  dreary  age  wore  on.  Louis  slept!  The  little  brother  sat 
with  his  chin  in  his  hands,  his  heart  cold,  his  eyes  closed.     He 

prayed. 

Then  came  the  sound  of  a  heavy  object  being  dragged  away 
from  the  door  at  the  top  of  the  steps.  They  both  sprang  to  their 
feet.     An  oblong  patch  of  drab,  gray  light  appeared  overhead. 

Sunrise! 

"Come!  It  is  time,"  called  down  a  hoarse  voice.  Three  guns 
hung  over  the  edge  of  the  opening.     They  were  taking  no  chances. 

"Louis!"  cried  Francois  sharply. 

Louis  straightened  his  gaunt  figure.  The  light  from  above  fell 
upon  his  face.  It  was  white,— deathly  white,— but  transfigured. 
A  great  light  flamed  in  his  eyes. 

"Have  no  fear,  little  brother,"  he  said  gently,  caressingly.  He 
clasped  his  brother's  hand.  "We  die  together.  I  have  dreamed. 
A  vision  came  to  me,— came  down  from  heaven.  My  dream  was 
of  our  mother.  She  came  to  me  and  spoke.  So!  I  shall  die 
without  fear.  Come!  Courage,  little  Francois.  We  are  her 
soldier  boys.     She  gave  us  to  France.     She  spoke  to  me.     I  am 

not  afraid." 

Glorified,  rejoicing,  almost  unbelieving,  Frangois  followed  his 
brother  up  the  steps.     There  was  comfort  in  the  grip  of  Louis's 

hand. 

"This  general  of  yours,"  began  Louis,  facing  the  guard,  a  sneer 
on  his  colorless  lips,  his  teeth  showing,  "he  is  a  dog!  I  shall  say 
as  much  to  him  when  the  guns  are  pointed  at  my  breast." 


282      DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

The  Germans  stared. 

"What  has  come  over  this  one?"  growled  one  of  them.  "Last 
night  he  was  breaking." 

"There  is  still  a  way  to  break  him,"  said  another,  grinning. 
"Hell  will  be  a  relief  to  him  after  this  hour." 

"Canailes!"  snarled  Louis,  and  Francois  laughed  aloud  in  sheer 
joy! 

"iMy  good, — my  strong  brother!"  he  cried  out. 

"This  Papa  Joffre  of  yours,"  said  the  burliest  German, — "he 
is  worse  than  a  dog.  He  is  a  toad."  He  shoved  the  captives 
through  the  opening  in  the  wall.     "Get  on!" 

"The  smallest  sergeant  in  Germany  is  greater  than  your  Papa 
Joffre,"  said  another.  "What  is  it  you  have  said,  baby  French- 
man? One  frog-eater  is  worth  five  Germans?  Ho-ho!  You 
shall  see." 

"I — I  myself,"  cried  FranQois  hotly, — "I  am  nobler,  braver, 
greater  than  this  beast  you  call  master." 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  a  third  German,  in  a  kindlier  tone 
than  the  others  had  employed.  "It  can  do  you  no  good  to  talk 
like  this.  Give  in,  my  brave  lads.  Tell  everything.  I  know 
what  is  before  you  if  you  refuse  to-day, — and  I  tremble.  He  will 
surely  break  you  to-day." 

They  were  crossing  the  narrow  road. 

"He  is  your  master, — not  ours,"  said  Frangois  calmly. 

Louis  walked  ahead,  erect,  his  jaw  set.  The  blood  leaped  in 
Frangois'  veins.     Ah,  what  a  brave,  strong  fellow  his  brother  was! 

"He  is  the  greatest  commander  in  all  the  German  armies," 
boasted  the  burly  sergeant.  "And,  young  frog-eater,  he  com- 
mands the  finest  troops  in  the  world.  Do  you  know  that  there  are 
ten  thousand  iron  crosses  in  this  God-appointed  corps!     Have  a 


V  NIT  ED  STATES— McCUTCHEON  283 

care  how  you  speak  of  our  general.  He  is  the  Emperor's  right 
hand.     He  is  the  chosen  man  of  the  Emperor." 

"And  of  God,"  added  another. 

"Bah!"  cried  Frangois,  snapping  his  fingers  scornfully.  "He 
is  worth  no  more  than  that  to  me!" 

Frangois  was  going  to  his  death.     His  chest  swelled. 

"You  fool.  He  is  to  the  Emperor  worth  more  than  an  entire 
army  corps, — yes,  two  of  them.  The  Emperor  would  sooner  lose 
a  hundred  thousand  men  than  this  single  general." 

"A  himdred  thousand  men?"  cried  Francois,  incredulously. 
"That  is  a  great  many  men, — even  Germans," 

"Pigs,"  said  Louis,  between  his  teeth. 

They  now  entered  the  little  garden.  The  Prussian  commander 
was  eating  his  breakfast  in  the  shelter  of  a  tent.  The  day  was 
young,  yet  the  sun  was  hot.  Papers  and  maps  were  strewn  over 
the  top  of  the  long  table  at  which  he  sat,  gorging  himself.  The 
guard  and  the  two  prisoners  halted  a  few  paces  away.  The  gen- 
eral's breakfast  was  not  to  be  interrupted  by  anything  so  trivial  as 
the  affairs  of  Louis  and  Francois. 

"And  that  ugly  glutton  is  worth  more  than  a  hundred  thousand 
men,"  mused  Frangois,  eyeing  him  in  wonder.  "God,  how  cheap 
these  bodies  must  be." 

Staff  officers  stood  outside  the  tent,  awaiting  and  receiving  gruff 
orders  from  their  superior.  Between  gulps  he  gave  out  almost 
unintelligible  sounds,  and  one  by  one  these  officers,  interpreting 
them  as  commands,  saluted  and  withdrew. 

Francois  gazed  as  one  fascinated.  He  was  a  great  general,  after 
all.  Only  a  very  great  and  powerful  general  could  enjoy  such 
respect,  such  servile  obedience  as  he  was  receiving  from  these 
hulking  brutes  of  men. 


284     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Directions  were  punctuated, — or  rather  indicated, — by  the  huge 
carving-knife  wiUi  which  the  general  slashed  his  meat.  He  pointed 
suddenly  with  the  knife,  and,  as  he  did  so,  the  officer  at  whom  it 
was  leveled,  sprang  into  action,  to  do  as  he  was  bidden,  as  if  the 
shining  blade  had  touched  his  quivering  flesh. 

Suddenly  the  great  general  pushed  his  bench  back  from  tlie  table, 
slammed  the  knife  and  fork  down  among  the  platters,  and  barked: 

"Well!" 

His  eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  prisoners.  The  guards  shoved 
them  forward. 

"Have  you  decided?     What  is  it  to  be, — life  or  death?" 

He  was  in  an  evil  humor.  That  battery  in  the  hills  had  found 
its  mark  again  when  the  sun  was  on  the  rise. 

"Vive  la  France!"  shouted  Louis,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven. 

"Vive  la  France!"  almost  screamed  Frangois. 

"So  be  it!"  roared  the  commander.  His  gaze  was  fixed  on 
Louis.  There  was  the  one  who  would  weaken.  Not  that  little 
devil  of  a  boy  beside  him.  He  uttered  a  short,  sharp  command 
to  an  aide. 

The  torturing  of  Louis  began.  .  .  . 

"End  it!"  commanded  the  Prussian  general  after  a  while.  "The 
fool  will  not  speak!" 

And  the  little  of  life  that  was  left  to  the  shuddering,  sightless 
Louis  went  out  with  a  sigh — slipped  out  witli  the  bayonet  as  it  was 
withdrawn  from  his  loyal  breast. 

Turning  to  Francois,  who  had  been  forced  to  witness  the  mutila- 
tion of  his  brother, — whose  arms  had  been  held  and  whose  eyelids 
were  drawn  up  by  the  cruel  fingers  of  a  soldier  who  stood  behind 
him, — he  said: 

"Now  you!  You  have  seen  what  happened  to  him!  It  is  your 
turn  now.     I  was  mistaken.     I  thought  that  he  was  the  coward. 


UNITED  STATES— McCUTCH EON  285 

Are  you  prepared  to  go  through  even  more  than — Ah!  Good! 
I  thought  so!     The  little  fire-eater  weakens!" 

Francois,  shaken  and  near  to  dying  of  the  horror  he  had  wit- 
nessed, sagged  to  his  knees.  They  dragged  him  forward, — and 
one  of  thera  kicked  him. 

"I  will  tell!  I  will  tell!"  he  screamed.  "Let  me  alone!  Keep 
your  hands  off  of  me!     I  will  tell,  God  help  me,  general!" 

He  staggered,  white-faced  and  pitiful,  to  the  edge  of  the  table, 
which  he  grasped  with  trembling,  straining  hands. 

"Be  quick  about  it,"  snarled  the  general,  leaning  forward 
eagerly. 

Like  a  cat,  Frangois  sprang.  He  had  gaged  the  distance  well. 
He  had  figured  it  all  out  as  he  stood  by  and  watched  his  brother  die. 

His  fingers  clutched  the  knife. 

"I  will!"  he  cried  out  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 

To  the  hasp  sank  the  long  blade  into  the  heart  of  the  Prussian 
commander. 

Whirling,  the  French  boy  threw  his  arms  on  high  and  screamed 
into  the  faces  of  the  stupefied  soldiers: 

"Vive  la  France!  One  hundred  thousand  men!  There  they 
lie!  Ha-ha!  I — I,  FranQois  Dupre, — I  have  sent  them  all  to 
hell!     Wait  for  me,  Louis!     I  am  coming!" 

The  first  words  of  the  "Marseillaise"  were  bursting  from  his  lips 
when  his  uplifted  face  was  blasted — 

He  crumpled  up  and  fell. 


286  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

SONNET 

1  HOU  art  not  lovelier  than  lilacs, — no. 
Nor  honeysuckle, — thou  art  not  more  fair 
Than  small  white  single  poppies, — I  can  bear 
Thy  beauty;  though  I  bend  before  thee,  though 
From  left  to  right,  not  knowing  where  to  go, 
I  turn  my  troubled  eyes,  nor  here  nor  there 
Find  any  refuge  from  thee,  yet  I  swear 
So  has  it  been  with  mist, — with  moonlight  so. 

Like  him  who  day  by  day  unto  his  draught 
Of  delicate  poison  adds  him  one  drop  more 
Till  he  may  drink  unharmed  the  death  of  ten. 
Even  so,  inured  to  beauty,  who  have  quaffed 
Each  hour  more  deeply  than  the  hour  before, 
I  drink, — and  live — what  has  destroyed  some  men. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— MORRIS    287 
THE  IDIOT 


THE  CHANGE  was  not  afifected  without  whispering.  The 
spirit  both  of  the  troops  who  were  going  back  of  the  lines  to 
rest  and  of  those  who  had  zigzagged  up  through  two  miles  of 
communication  trenches  to  take  their  places  was  excellent. 

"What  is  the  name  of  this  country?"  asked  one  of  the  new 
comers. 

"If  it  has  a  name,  that  is  all  that  remains.  We  are  somewhere 
in  Picardy.  The  English  are  off  there  not  very  far.  Their  cannon 
have  different  voices  from  ours.     Good  luck!" 

His  gray,  faded  uniform  seemed  to  melt  into  the  night.  The 
New  Comer  stepped  on  to  the  firing  platform  and  poked  his  head 
over  the  parapet.     A  comrade  pulled  at  his  trousers  leg. 

"Come  down.  Idiot,"  he  said,  "Fritz  is  only  twelve  yards 
away." 

The  Idiot  came  down,  sniffing  the  night  air  luxuriously. 

"We  are  somewhere  in  Picardy,"  he  said.  "I  know  without 
being  told.     It  is  like  getting  home." 

A  sergeant  approached,  his  body  twisted  sideways  because  the 
trench  was  too  narrow  for  his  shoulders. 

"Have  you  a  watch?" 

The  Idiot  had. 

Under  his  coat,  so  that  the  enemy  should  not  perceive  the  glow, 
the  Sergeant  flashed  his  electric  torch  and  compared  the  watches, 

"Yours  leads  by  a  minute,"  he  said.  "The  advance  will  be  at 
four  o'clock.     There  will  be  hot  coffee  at  three.     Good  luck." 

He  passed  on,  and  the  comrades  drew  a  little  closer  together. 
The  Sergeant's  words  had  made  the  Idiot  very  happy. 


288  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"In  less  than  two  hours!"  he  said. 

"I  thought  there  was  something  in  the  wind,"  said  Paul  Guitry. 

"If  we  advanced  only  three  kilometers,"  said  the  Idiot,  "the 
village  in  which  I  was  bom  would  be  French  again.  But  there  will 
be  great  changes." 

"You  were  bom  at  Champ-de-Fer?" 

"It  is  directly  opposite  us." 

"You  cannot  know  that." 

"I  feel  it,"  said  the  Idiot.  "Wherever  I  have  been  stationed 
I  have  felt  it.  Sometimes  I  have  asked  an  officer  to  look  for 
Champ-de-Fer  on  his  field  map,  and  when  he  has  done  so,  I  have 
pointed,  and  said  'Is  it  in  that  direction?'  and  always  I  have  been 
right." 

"Did  your  family  remain  in  the  village?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  think  so,  for  from  the  hour  of  the 
mobilization  until  now,  I  have  not  heard  from  thera." 

"Since  the  hour  of  mobilization,"  said  Paul  Guitry,  "much 
water  has  flowed  under  the  bridges.  I  had  just  been  married. 
My  wife  is  in  Paris.  I  have  a  little  son  now.  I  saw  them  when 
I  had  my  eight  days'  leave.  And  it  seems  that  again  I  am  to  be  a 
father.     It  is  very  wonderful." 

"I  was  going  to  be  married,"  said  the  Idiot  simply. 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"If  I  had  known,"  said  Paul  Guitry,  "I  would  not  have  boasted 
of  my  own  happiness." 

"I  am  not  the  only  French  soldier  who  has  not  heard  from  his 
sweetheart  since  the  mobilization,"  said  the  Idiot.  "It  has  been 
hard,"  he  said,  "but  by  thinking  of  all  the  others,  I  have  been 
able  to  endure." 

"She  remained  there  at  Champ-de-Fer?" 

"She  must  have,  or  else  she  would  have  written  to  me." 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— MORRIS    289 

Paul  Guitry  could  not  find  anything  to  say. 

"Soon,"  said  the  Idiot,  "we  shall  be  in  Champ-de-Fer,  and  they 
will  tell  me  what  has  become  of  her." 

"She  will  tell  you  herself,"  said  Paul  Guitry  with  a  heartiness 
which  he  did  not  feel.     The  Idiot  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"We  have  loved  each  other,"  he  said,  "even  since  we  were  little 
children.  Do  you  know  why  I  am  called  the  Idiot?  It  is  be- 
cause I  do  not  go  witli  women,  when  I  have  the  chance.  But  I 
don't  mind.  They  cannot  say  that  I  am  not  a  real  man,  for  I  have 
the  military  medal  and  I  have  been  mentioned  twice  in  the  orders 

of  the  day." 

To  Paul  Guitry,  a  confirmed  sinner  as  opportunity  offered,  the 
Idiot's  statement  contained  much  psychic  meat. 

"It  must  be,"  he  said,  "that  purity  tempts  some  men,  just  as 
impurity  tempts  others." 

"It  is  even  simpler,"  said  the  Idiot;  but  he  did  not  explain. 
And  there  was  a  long  silence. 

Now  and  then  Paul  Guitry  glanced  at  his  companion's  profile, 
for  the  night  was  no  longer  inky  black.  It  was  a  simple  direct 
young  face,  not  handsome,  but  full  of  dignity  and  kindness;  the 
line  of  the  jaw  had  a  certain  sternness,  and  the  wide  and  deli- 
cately molded  nostril  indicated  courage  and  daring. 

Paul  Guitry  thought  of  his  wife  and  of  his  little  son,  of  his 
eight  days'  leave,  and  of  its  consequences.  He  tried  to  imagine 
how  he  would  feel,  if  for  two  years  his  wife  had  been  in  the  hands 
of  the  Germans.     Without   meaning  to,  he   spoke  his  thought 

aloud: 

"Long  since,"  he  said,  "I  should  have  gone  mad." 

ITie  Idiot  nodded. 

"They  say,"  he  said,  "that  in  fifty  years  all  this  will  be  for- 
gotten; and  that  we  French  will  feel  friendly  toward  the  Germans." 


290  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

He  laughed  softly,  a  laugh  so  cold,  that  Paul  Guitry  felt  as  if 
ice  water  had  suddenly  been  spilled  on  his  spine. 

"Hell,"  he  went  on,  "has  no  tortures  which  French  men,  and 
women,  and  little  children  have  not  suffered.  You  say  that  if  you 
had  been  in  my  boots  you  must  long  since  have  gone  mad?  Well, 
it  is  because  I  have  been  able  to  think  of  all  the  others  who  are  in 
my  boots  that  I  have  kept  my  sanity.  It  has  not  been  easy.  It  is 
not  as  if  my  imagination  alone  had  been  tortured.  Just  as  I  have 
the  sense  that  my  village  is  there — "  he  pointed  with  his  sensitive 
hand,  "so  I  have  the  sense  of  what  has  happened  there.  I  know 
that  she  is  alive,"  he  concluded,  "and  that  she  would  rather  be 
dead." 

There  was  another  silence.  The  Idiot's  nostrils  dilated  and  he 
sniffed  once  or  twice. 

"The  coffee  is  coming,"  he  said.  "Listen.  If  I  am  killed  in 
the  advance,  find  her,  will  you — Jeanne  Bergere?  And  say  what 
you  can  to  comfort  her.  It  doesn't  matter  what  has  happened, 
her  love  for  me  is  like  the  North  Star — fixed.  When  she  knows 
that  I  am  dead  she  will  wish  to  kill  herself.  You  must  prevent 
that.  You  must  show  her  how  she  can  help  France.  Aha! — 
The  cannon!" 

From  several  miles  in  the  rear  there  rose  suddenly  a  thudding 
percursive  cataract  of  sound.  The  earth  trembled  like  some 
frightened  animal  that  has  been  driven  into  a  comer. 

The  Idiot  leaped  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  joyously  alight. 

"It  is  the  voice  of  God,"  he  cried. 

If  indeed  it  was  the  voice  of  God,  that  other  great  voice  which 
is  of  Hell,  made  no  answer.  The  German  guns  were  unaccount- 
ably silent. 

On  the  stroke  of  four,  the  earth  still  trembling  with  the  incessant 
concussions   of   the   guns,   the    French   scrambled    out    of   their 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— MORRIS    291 

trenches  and  went  forward.  But  no  sudden  blast  of  lead  and  iron 
challenged  llieir  temerity.  A  few  shells,  but  all  from  field  pieces, 
fired  perfunctorily  as  it  were,  fell  near  them  and  occasionally 
among  tliem.     It  looked  as  if  Fritz  wasn't  going  to  fight. 

The  wire  guarding  the  first  line  of  German  trenches  had  been 
so  torn  and  disrupted  by  the  French  cannon,  that  only  here  and 
there  an  ugly  strand  remained  to  be  cut.  The  trench  was  empty. 
"The  Boche,"  said  Paul  Guitry,  "has  left  nothing  but  his  smell." 
Rumor  spread  swiftly  through  the  lines.  "We  are  not  to  be 
opposed.  Fritz  has  been  withdrawn  in  the  night.  His  lines  are 
too  long.     He  is  straightening  out  his  salients.     It  is  the  beginning 

of  the  end." 

There  was  good  humor  and  elation.  There  was  also  a  feeling 
of  admiration  for  the  way  in  which  Fritz  had  managed  to  retreat 
without  being  detected. 

The  country  over  which  the  troops  advanced  was  a  rolling  desert, 
blasted,  twisted,  swept  clear  of  all  vegetation.  What  the  Germans 
could  not  destroy  they  had  carried  away  with  them.  There  re- 
mained only  frazzled  stumps  of  trees,  dead  bodies  and  ruined 

engines  of  war. 

Paul  Guitry  and  the  Idiot  came  at  last  to  the  summit  of  a  little 
hill.  Beyond  and  below  at  the  end  of  a  long  sweep  of  tortured 
and  ruined  fields  could  be  seen  picturesquely  grouped  a  few  walls 
of  houses  and  one  bold  arch  of  an  ancient  bridge. 

The  Idiot  blinked  stupidly.     Then  he  laughed  a  short,  ugly 

laugh. 

"I  had  counted  on  seeing  the  church  steeple.     But  of  course  they 

would  have  destroyed  that." 

"Is  it  Champ-de-Fer?"  asked  Guitry. 

At  that  moment  a  dark  and  sudden  smoke,  as  from  ignited 
chemicals  began  to  pour  upward  from  the  ruined  village. 


292      DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

*'It  was,"  said  the  Idiot,  and  once  more  the  word  was  passed 
to  go  forward. 

11 

X  HEY  did  not  know  what  was  going  on  in  the  world.  They  had 
heen  ordered  into  the  cellars  of  the  village,  and  told  to  remain 
tliere  for  twenty-four  hours.     They  had  no  thought  hut  to  obey. 

Into  the  same  cellar  with  Jeanne  Bergere  had  heen  herded  four 
old  women,  two  old  men,  and  a  little  boy  whom  a  German  surgeon 
(tlie  day  the  champagne  had  been  discovered  buried  in  tlie  Notary's 
garden)  had  strapped  to  a  board  and — vivisected. 

Twenty-three  of  the  twenty-four  hours  had  passed  (one  of  die 
old  men  had  a  Waterbury  watch)  but  only  the  little  boy  com- 
plained of  hunger  and  thirst.  He  wanted  to  drink  from  the  well 
in  the  comer  of  the  cellar;  but  they  would  not  let  him.  The  well 
had  supplied  good  drinking  water  since  the  days  of  Julius  Caesar, 
but  shortly  after  entering  the  cellar  one  of  the  old  women  had 
drunk  from  it,  and  shortly  afterward  had  died  in  great  torment. 
The  little  boy  kept  saying: 

"But  maybe  it  wasn't  the  water  which  killed  Madame  Pigeon. 
Only  let  me  try  it  and  then  we  shall  know  for  sure." 

But  they  would  not  let  him  drink. 

"It  is  not  agreeable  to  live,"  said  one  of  the  old  men,  "but  it  is 
necessary.  We  are  of  those  who  will  be  called  upon  to  testify. 
The  terms  of  peace  will  be  written  by  soft-hearted  statesmen;  we 
who  have  suffered  must  be  on  hand.  We  must  be  on  hand  to  see 
that  the  Boche  gets  his  deserts." 

Jeanne  Bergere  spoke  in  a  low  unimpassioned  voice: 

"What  would  you  do  to  them,  father,"  she  asked,  "if  you  were 
God?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  the  old  man.     "For  I  have  experience 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— MORRIS    293 

only  of  those  things  -which  give  them  pleasure.  Those  who  delight 
in  peculiar  pleasures  are  perhaps  immune  to  ordinary  pains.  .  .  ." 

"Surely,"  interrupted  the  little  boy,  "it  was  not  the  water  that 
killed  Madame  Pigeon." 

"How  peaceful  she  looks,"  said  the  old  man.  "You  would  say 
the  stone  face  of  a  saint  from  the  facade  of  a  cathedral." 

"It  may  be,"  said  Jeanne  Bergere,  "that  already  God  has  opened 
His  mind  to  her,  and  that  she  knows  of  tliat  vengeance,  which  we 
with  our  small  minds  are  not  able  to  invent." 

"I  can  only  think  of  what  they  have  done  to  us,"  said  the  old 
man.  "It  does  not  seem  as  if  there  was  anything  left  for  us  to  do 
to  them.  Vengeance  which  does  not  give  the  Avenger  pleasure  is 
a  poor  sort  of  vengeance.     Madame  Simon  .  .  ." 

The  old  woman  in  question  turned  a  pair  of  sheeny  eyes  towards 
the  speaker. 

"Would  it  give  you  any  particular  pleasure  to  cut  the  breasts  off 
an  old  German  woman?" 

With  a  trembling  hand  Madame  Simon  flattened  the  bosom  of 
her  dress  to  show  that  there  was  nothing  beneath. 

"It  would  give  me  no  pleasure,"  she  said,  "but  I  shall  show 
my  scars  to  the  President." 

"An  eye  for  an  eye — a  tooth  for  a  tooth,"  said  the  old  man. 
"Tliat  is  the  ancient  law.  But  it  does  not  work.  There  is  no 
justice  in  exchanging  a  German  eye  and  a  French.  French  eyes 
see  beauty  in  everything.  To  the  German  eye  the  sense  of  beauty 
has  been  denied.  You  cannot  compare  a  beast  and  a  man.  In 
the  old  days,  when  there  were  wolves,  it  was  the  custom  of  the  na'ive 
people  of  those  days  to  torture  a  wolf  if  they  caught  one.  They 
put  him  to  death  willi  the  same  refinements  which  were  requisi- 
tioned for  human  criminals.  This  meant  nothing  to  the  wolf. 
The  mere  fact  that  he  had  been  caught  was  what  tortured  him. 


294     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

And  so  I  think  it  will  be  with  the  Germans  when  they  find  that 
lliey  have  failed.  They  have  built  up  their  power  on  the  absurd 
hypothesis  tliat  they  are  men.  Their  punishment  will  be  in  dis- 
covering that  they  never  were  anything  but  low  animals  and 
never  could  be." 

"That  is  too  deep  for  me,"  said  the  other  old  man.  "They  tied 
my  daughter  to  her  bed,  and  afterward  they  set  fire  to  her  mat- 
tress." 

"I  wish,"  said  Jeanne  Bergere,  "that  they  had  set  fire  to  my 
mattress." 

A  violent  concussion  shook  the  cellar  to  its  foundations.  Even 
the  face  of  the  thirsty  little  boy  brightened. 

"It  is  one  of  ours,"  he  said. 

"To  eradicate  the  lice  which  feed  upon  the  Germans  and  the 
foul  smells  which  emanate  from  their  bodies  there  is  nothing  so 
effective  as  high  explosives,"  said  the  old  man.  He  looked  at  his 
watch  and  said: 

"We  have  half  an  hour  more." 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  he  climbed  the  cellar  stair,  pushed  open 
the  door,  and  looked  out.  Partly  in  the  bright  stmlight  and 
partly  in  the  deep  shadows,  he  resembled  a  painting  by  Rem- 
brandt. 

"I  see  no  one,"  he  said.     "There  is  a  lot  of  smoke." 

His  eyes  became  suddenly  wide  open,  fixed,  round  with  a  kind 
of  celestial  astonishment.  Then  his  old  French  heart  stopped  beat- 
ing, and  he  fell  to  the  foot  of  the  stair.  His  companions  thought 
that  he  must  have  been  shot.     They  dared  not  move. 

But  it  was  no  bullet  or  fragment  of  far-blown  shell  that  had 
laid  the  old  man  low.  He  had  seen  in  die  smoke  that  whirled 
down  the  village  street,  a  little  soldier  in  the  uniform  of  France. 
Pure  unadulterated  joy  had  struck  him  dead. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— MORRIS    295 

Five  minutes  passed,  and  no  one  had  moved  except  the  little 
boy.  With  furtive  glances  and  trembling  hands  he  had  crept  to 
the  old  well  in  the  comer  and  drunk  a  cup  of  the  poisoned  water. 
Then  he  crept  back  to  his  place. 

The  second  old  man  now  rose,  drew  a  deep  breath  and  climbed 
the  cellar  stair.  For  a  time  he  stood  blinking,  and  mouthing  his 
scattered  teeth.     He  was  trying  to  speak  and  could  not. 

"What  is  it?"  they  called  up  to  him.     "What  has  happened?" 

He  did  not  answer.  He  made  inarticulate  sounds,  and  suddenly 
with  incredible  speed,  darted  forward  into  the  smoke  and  the  sun- 
light. 

A  little  hand  cold  and  wet  crept  into  Jeanne  Bergere's.  She 
was  vexed.  She  wished  to  go  out  of  the  cellar  with  the  otliers; 
but  the  little  hand  clung  to  her  so  tightly  that  she  could  not  free 
herself. 

Except  for  the  old  woman  who  had  drunk  from  the  well,  and 
the  old  man,  all  in  a  heap  at  the  foot  of  the  cellar  stair,  they  were 
alone.     She  and  the  little  boy. 

"It  is  true,"  said  the  little  boy,  "at  least  I  think  it  is  true  about 
the  water  .  .  .  when  .  .  .  nobody  was  looking.  .  .  .  Please, 
please  stay  with  me,  Jeanne  Bergere." 

"You  drank  when  it  was  forbidden?  That  was  very  naughty, 
Charlie.  .  .  .  Good  God,  what  am  I  saying — you  poor  baby — you 
poor  baby."  She  snatched  him  into  her  arms,  and  held  him  with 
a  kind  of  tigerish  ferocity. 

"It  hurts,"  said  Charlie.  "It  hurts.  It  hurts  me  all  over.  It 
hurts  worse  all  the  time." 

"I  will  go  for  help,"  she  said.     "Wait." 

"Please  do  not  go  away." 

"You  want  to  die?" 

The  child  nodded. 


296  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"If  I  grow  up,  I  should  not  be  a  man,"  he  said.  "You  know 
what  the  doctor  did  to  me?" 

"I  know,"  she  said  briefly,  "but  you  shan't  die  if  I  can  help  it." 

She  could  not  help  it.  A  few  minutes  after  she  had  gone,  his 
back  strongly  arched  became  rigid.  His  jaws  locked  and  he  died 
in  tlie  attitude  of  a  wrestler  making  a  bridge. 

The  village  street  was  full  of  smoke  and  Frenchmen.  These 
were  methodically  fighting  the  fires  and  hunting  the  ruins  for  Ger- 
mans. Jeanne  Bergere  seized  one  of  the  little  soldiers  by  the 
elbow. 

"Come  quickly,"  she  said,  "there  is  a  child  poisoned!" 

The  Idiot  turned,  and  she  would  have  fallen  if  he  had  not  caught 
her.     She  tore  herself  loose  from  his  arms  with  a  kind  of  ferocity. 

"Come!  Come!"  she  cried,  and  she  ran  like  a  frightened  ani- 
mal back  to  the  cellar  door,  the  Idiot  close  behind  her. 

The  Idiot  knelt  by  the  dead  child,  and  after  feeling  in  vain  for 
any  pulsation,  straightened  up  and  said: 

"He  is  dead." 

"He  drank  from  the  well,"  said  Jeanne.  "We  told  him  that 
it  was  poisoned.     But  he  was  so  thirsty." 

They  tried  to  straighten  the  little  boy,  but  could  not.  The  Idiot 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  looked  at  her  for  the  first  time.  He  must 
have  made  some  motion  with  his  hands,  for  she  cried  suddenly: 

"Don't !     You  mustn't  touch  me ! " 

"We  have  always  loved  each  other,"  he  said  simply. 

"You  don't  understand." 

"What  you  have  been  through?     I  understand.     Kiss  me." 

She  held  him  at  arm's  length. 

"Listen,"  she  said.  "The  old  people  would  not  leave  the  vil- 
lage,— your  father  and  mother  ...  so  I  stayed.  At  that  time  it 
was  still  supposed  that  the  Germans  were  human  beings  .  .  . 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— MORRIS    297 

"And  my  father  and  mother?"  asked  the  Idiot. 

"Some  of  tlie  people  went  into  the  street  to  see  the  Germans 
enter  the  village.  But  we  watched  from  a  window  in  your 
father's  house  .  .  .  They  were  Uhlans,  who  came  at  first.  They 
were  so  drunk  that  they  could  hardly  sit  on  their  horses.  Their 
lieutenant  took  a  sudden  fancy  to  Marie  Lebrun,  but  when  he  tried 
to  kiss  her,  she  slapped  his  face  .  .  .  That  seemed  to  sober  him 
.  .  .  Old  man  Lebrun  had  leapt  forward  to  protect  his  daughter. 

"  'Are  you  her  father?'  "  asked  the  Lieutenant. 

"  'Yes,'  "  said  the  old  man. 

"  '  Bind  him,'  "  said  the  lieutenant,  and  then  he  gave  an  order, 
and  some  men  went  into  a  house  and  came  out  dragging  a  mat- 
tress .  .  .  They  dragged  it  into  the  middle  of  the  street  .  .  . 
They  held  old  man  Lebrun  so  that  he  had  to  see  everything  .  .  . 
for  some  hours,  as  many  as  wanted  to  .  .  .  Then  the  lieutenant 
stepped  forward  and  shot  her  through  the  head,  and  then  he  shot 
her  father  .  .  .  Your  father  and  mother  hid  me  in  tlie  cellar  of 
their  house,  as  well  as  they  could  .  .  .  But  from  the  Germans 
nothing  remains  long  hidden  ,  .  .  Your  father  and  mother  tried 
to  defend  me  .  .  .  tied  them  to  their  bed  .  .  .  and  ...  set  fire 
to  the  house." 

The  Idiot's  granite-gray  face  showed  no  new  emotion. 

"And  you?" 

She  shook  her  head  violently. 

"What  you  cannot  imagine,"  she  said.  "I  have  forgotten  .  .  . 
There  have  been  so  many  ...  No  street-walker  has  ever  been 
through  what  I  have  been  through  .  .  •  There's  nothing  more  to 
say  ...  I  wanted  to  live  ...  to  bear  witness  against  tliem  .  .  . 
For  you  and  me  everything  is  finished  .  .  ." 

"Almost,"  said  die  Idiot.  "You  talk  as  if  you  no  longer  loved 
me." 


298     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

The  granite-gray  of  his  face  had  softened  into  the  ruddy,  sun- 
burned coloring  of  a  healthy  young  soldier,  long  in  the  field,  and 
she  could  not  resist  the  strong  arms  that  he  opened  to  her. 

"They  have  not  touched  your  soul,"  said  the  Idiot. 


f  .^.J^ 


L 


UNITED  STATES— OPPENHEIM  299 


MEMORIES  OF  WHITMAN  AND  LINCOLN 

"When  lilacs  last  in  the  dooryard  bloom'd" 

-W.  W. 

ILACS  shall  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 

And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Spring  hangs  in  tlie  dew  of  the  dooryards 

These  memories — these  memories — 

They  hang  in  the  dew  for  the  bard  who  fetched 

A  sprig  of  them  once  for  his  brother 

When  he  lay  cold  and  dead.  .  .  . 

And  forever  now  when  America  leans  in  the  dooryard 

And  over  the  hills  Spring  dances, 

Smell  of  lilacs  and  sight  of  lilacs  shall  bring  to  her  heart  these 

brothers.  .  .  . 
Lilacs  shall  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Who  are  the  shadow-forms  crowding  the  night? 

What  shadows  of  men? 

The  stilled  star-night  is  high  with  these  brooding  spirits— 

Their  shoulders  rise  on  the  Earth-rim,  and  they  are  great 
presences  in  heaven — 

They  move  through  the  stars  like  outlined  winds  in  young- 
leaved  maples. 

Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 

And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Deeply  the  nation  throbs  with  a  world's  anguish — 
But  it  sleeps,  and  I  on  the  housetops 


300  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Commune  with  souls  long  dead  who  guard  our  land  at  mid- 
night, 

A  strength  in  each  hushed  heart — 

I  seem  to  hear  the  Atlantic  moaning  on  our  shores  with  the 
plaint  of  the  dying 

And  rolling  on  our  shores  with  the  rumble  of  battle.  .  .  . 

I  seem  to  see  my  country  growing  golden  toward  California, 

And,  as  fields  of  daisies,  a  people,  with  slumbering  up-turned 
faces 

Leaned  over  by  Two  Brothers, 

And  the  greatness  that  is  gone- 
Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 

And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Spring  runs  over  the  land, 

A  young  girl,  light-footed,  eager  .  .  . 

For  I  hear  a  song  that  is  faint  and  sweet  with  first  love, 

Out  of  the  West,  fresh  with  tlie  grass  and  the  timber. 

But  dreamily  soothing  the  sleepers  .  .  . 

I  listen:  I  drink  it  deep. 

Softly  the  Spring  sings, 

Softly  and  clearly: 

"/  open  lilacs  for  the  beloved. 

Lilacs  for  the  lost,  the  dead. 

And,  see,  for  the  living,  I  bring  sweet  strawberry  blossoms. 

And  I  bring  buttercups,  and  I  bring  to  the  woods  anemones  and 

blue  bells  .  .  . 
I  open  lilacs  for  the  beloved. 
And  when  my  fluttering  garment  drifts  through  dusty  cities. 


UNITED  STATES— OPPENHEIM  301 

And  blows  on  hills,  and  brushes  the  inland  sea, 
Over  you,  sleepers,  over  you,  tired  sleepers, 
A  fragrant  memory  falls  .  .  . 
/  open  love  in  the  shut  heart, 
I  open  lilacs  for  the  beloved." 


Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Was  that  the  Spring  that  sang,  opening  locked  hearts, 

And  is  remembrance  mine? 

For  I  know  these  two  great  shadows  in  the  spacious  night. 

Shadows  folding  America  close  between  them. 

Close  to  the  heart  .  .  . 

And  I  know  how  my  own  lost  youth  grew  up  blessedly  in  their 

spirit, 
And  how  the  morning  song  of  the  mighty  bard 
Sent  me  out  from  my  dreams  to  the  living  America, 
To  the  chanting  seas,  to  the  piney  hills,  down  the  railroad 

vistas. 
Out  into  the  streets  of  Manhattan  when  the  whistles  blew  at 

seven, 
Down  to  the  mills  of  Pittsburgh  and  the  rude  faces  of  labor  . . . 
And  I  know  how  tlie  grave  great  music  of  that  other. 
Music  in  which  lost  armies  sang  requiems. 
And  the  vision  of  that  gaunt,  that  great  and  solemn  figure. 
And  the  graven  face,  the  deep  eyes,  the  mouth, 
0  human-hearted  brother. 
Dedicated  anew  my  undevoted  heart 
To  America,  my  land. 


302  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 


Now  in  this  hour  I  was  suppliant  for  these  two  brothers, 
And  I  said :  Your  land  has  need : 

Half -awakened  and  blindly  we  grope  in  the  great  world.  .  .  . 
What  strength  may  we  take  from  our  Past,  what  promise  hold 
for  our  future? 

And  the  one  brother  leaned  and  whispered: 

"I  put  my  strength  in  a  book. 

And  in  that  book  my  love  .  .  . 

This,  with  my  love,  I  give  to  America  .  ,  ." 

^\nd  the  other  brotlier  leaned  and  murmured : 

"I  put  my  strength  in  a  life. 

And  in  that  life  my  love. 

This,  with  my  love,  I  give  to  America." 

Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Then  my  heart  sang  out:  This  strength  shall  be  our  strength: 
Yea,  when  the  great  hour  comes,  and  the  sleepers  wake  and 

are  hurled  back. 
And  creep  down  into  themselves 
There  shall  they  find  Walt  Whitman 
And  there,  Abraham  Lincoln. 

0  Spring,  go  over  this  land  with  much  singing 

And  open  the  lilacs  everywhere. 

Open  them  out  with  the  old-time  fragrance 


UNITED  STATES— OPPENHEIM  303 

Making  a  people  remember  that  something  has  been  forgotten, 
Sometliing     is     hidden     deep — strange     memories — strange 

memories — 
Of  him  that  brought  a  sprig  of  the  purple  cluster 
To  him  that  was  mourned  of  all  .  .  . 
And  so  they  are  linked  together 
While  yet  America  lives  .  .  . 
While  yet  America  lives,  my  heart. 
Lilacs  shall  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

^'        r       .■ 


304  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 


BRED  TO  THE  SEA 


Y 


E  who  are  bred  to  the  sea,  sons  of  the  sons  of  seamen, 
In  what  faith  do  ye  sail?     By  what  creed  do  ye  hold? 
Little  we  know  of  faiths,  and  we  leave  the  creeds  to  the  parsons. 
But  we  'bide  by  that  law  of  the  sea  which  our  fathers  made  of  old. 

Where  is  that  sea  law  writ  for  mariners  and  for  captains. 
That  they  may  know  the  law  by  which  they  sail  the  sea? 

We  never  saw  it  writ  for  sailormen  or  for  masters; 

But  'tis  laid  with  the  keel  of  the  ship.     What  would  you  have? 
Let  be. 

Ye  who  went  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  and  perished  aforetime, 
In  what  faith  did  ye  sail?     In  what  creed  did  ye  die? 

What  is  that  law  to  which  your  lives  were  forfeit? 

What  do  ye  teach  your  sons  that  they  may  not  deny? 

We  kept  the  faith  of  our  breed.     We  died  in  the  creed  of  seamen. 
As  our  sons,  too,  shall  die:  the  sea  will  have  its  way. 

The  law  which  bade  us  sail  witli  death  in  smack  and  whaler. 
In  tall  ship  and  in  open  boat,  is  the  seaman's  law  to-day. 

The  master  shall  rule  his  crew.     The  crew  shall  obey  the  master. 

Ye  shall  work  your  ship  while  she  fleets  and  ye  can  stand. 
Though  ye  starve,  and  freeze,  and  drown,  shipmate  shall  stand 
by  shipmate. 
Ye  shall  'bide  by  this  law  of  seafaring  folk,  though  ye  never 
come  to  land. 


304  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


BRED  TO  THE  SEA 


Y 


E  who  are  bred  to  the  sea,  sons  of  the  sons  of  seamen, 
In  what  faith  do  ye  sail?     By  what  creed  do  ye  hold? 
Little  we  know  of  faiths,  and  we  leave  the  creeds  to  the  parsons. 
But  we  'bide  by  that  law  of  the  sea  tf hich  our  fathers  made  of  old. 

Where  is  that  sea  law  writ  for  raari  tor  captains. 

That  they  may  know  the  law  by  wuicn  Uiiy  sail  the  sea? 

We  never  saw  it  writ  for  sailormen  or  for  masters; 

But  'tis  laid  with  the  keel  of  the  ship.     What  would  you  have? 
Let  be. 

Ye  who  went  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  a«ti  ^  rfehed  aforetime. 
In  what  faith  did  ye  sail?     In  what  jifet^  ^id  ye  die? 

What  is  that  law  to  which  your  lives  werQ"o^^^? 

What  do  ye  teach  your  sons  that  they  inc^-  got  deny? 

X  "^  i 

We  kept  the  faith  of  our  breed.     We  died  in  the  creed  of  seamen. 
As  our  sons,  too,  shall  die:  the  sea  will  have  its  way. 

The  law  which  bade  us  sail  witli  death  in  smack  and  whaler. 
In  tall  ship  and  in  open  boat,  is  the  seaman's  law  to-day. 

The  master  shall  rule  his  crew.     The  crew  shall  obey  the  master. 

Ye  shall  work  your  ship  while  she  fleets  and  ye  can  stand. 
Though  ye  starve,  and  freeze,  and  drown,  shipmate  shall  stand 
by  shipmate. 
Ye  shall  'bide  by  this  law  of  seafaring  folk,  though  ye  never 
come  to  land. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— PRYOR     305 

Ye  shall  hold  your  lives  in  trust  for  those  who  need  your  succor: 
A  flash  of  fire  by  night,  a  loom  of  smoke  by  day, 

A  rag  to  an  oar  shall  be  to  you  the  symbol 

Of  your  faith,  of  your  creed,  of  the  law  which  sailormeh  obey. 

Ye  shall  not  count  the  odds,  ye  shall  not  weigh  the  danger, 
When  life  is  to  be  saved  from  storm,  from  fire,  from  thirst. 

Ye  shall  not  leave  your  foe  adrift  and  helpless; 

And  when  the  boats  go  overside,  't  is,  "Women  and  children 
first." 

We  kept  this  faith  of  our  breed.     We  died  in  this  creed  of  seamen. 

We  sealed  our  creed  with  our  lives.     It  shall  endure  alway. 
The  law  which  bade  us  sail  with  death  in  smack  and  whaler, 

In  taU  ship  and  in  open  boat,  is  the  seaman's  law  to-day. 


^^^Mvu^ir^ 


306  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

OUR  DEFENDERS 

/xCROSS  the  fields  of  waving  wheat 

And  leagues  of  golden  com 
The  fragrance  of  the  wild-rose  bloom 

And  elder-flower  is  borne; 
But  earth's  appealing  loveliness 

We  do  but  half  surmise, 
For  oh,  tlie  blur  of  battle-fields 

Is  ever  in  our  eyes. 

The  robin-red-breast  and  the  wren, 

We  cannot  barken  these 
For  dreadful  thunder  of  the  guns 

That  echoes  overseas ; 
And  evermore  our  vision  turns 

To  those  who  follow  far 
The  bright  white  light  of  Liberty 

Through  the  red  fires  of  war. 

Our  thoughts  are  with  the  hero  souls 

And  hero  hearts  of  gold 
Who  keep  Old  Glory's  hallowed  stars 

Untarnished  as  of  old ; 
Who  join  their  hands  with  hero  hands 

In  hero  lands  to  save 
The  fearless  forehead  of  the  free 

The  shameful  brand  of  slave. 

And  through  these  days  of  strife  and  death. 
We  know  they  shall  not  fail, 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— STEIN     307 

That  Freedom  shall  not  pass  from  earth 

Nor  tyranny  prevail; 
Yea,  those  that  now  in  anguish  bow, 

We  know  that  soon  or  late 
They  shall  be  lifted  from  beneath 

The  iron  heel  of  hate. 

0  brave  defenders  of  the  free, 

For  you  our  tears  of  pride! 
Lo,  every  drop  of  blood  you  shed 

Our  hearts  have  sanctified! 
And  through  these  days  of  strife  and  death. 

These  weary  night-times  through. 
Our  spirits  watch  with  yours,  our  love 

It  hovers  over  you. 


308  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY, 

THE  BOMB 


"^7"0U  are  late.     Billy's  been  howling  the  house  down." 

JL  "All  babies  cry,  big  or  little,  now  and  then.  Tlie  nurse 
is  with  Billy.  I — "  Nellie  Cameron  paused  to  smooth  a  quiver 
out  of  her  voice — "I  am  not  late." 

"You  are  not?"  Joseph  Cameron,  bewildered,  laid  his  paper 
upon  his  knees  and  squinted  up  at  his  wife. 

"No,  Joe,  I  am  not."  As  if  it  absorbed  her,  and  no  one  could 
have  said  tliat  it  did  not,  for  she  kept  house  beautifully,  Nellie 
straightened  an  etching;  then  quietly  she  walked  out  of  the  room. 

She  went  into  their  bedroom  and  closed  the  door.  After  a  while 
Cameron,  watching  warily,  saw  her  come  into  the  hall  again  in  a 
peach-colored  dress  that  he  particularly  liked  her  in;  saw  her  go 
down  the  hall,  away  from  him — and  she  had  a  very  good  back — 
to  the  nursery  door,  the  warm,  cheerful  firelight  falling  full  upon 
her  face,  her  hands,  her  softly  glowing  dress.  Billy,  their  only  son, 
just  learning  to  walk,  toddled  to  meet  her.  Cameron  saw  the 
chubby  hands  rumple  her  skirts,  saw  Nellie  stoop  and  swing  him 
high  with  her  firm  arms,  then  drop  him  to  his  place  upon  her  breast. 
The  door  closed,  the  hall  was  shadowy  again,  the  apartment  as  stiU 
as  a  place  marked  "To  Let." 

The  dinner  was  on  time  and  excellent;  Nellie,  decorative  and 
chatty,  was  promptly  in  her  place.  Dinner  over,  they  went  to  the 
sitting-room  for  their  coffee.  The  apartment  was  very  high  up, 
the  windows  looking  over  the  tree-tops  of  the  Drive,  across  the 
Hudson  to  the  Jersey  shore.  It  was  March,  and  the  shore  lights 
wavered  in  gusts  of  rain  that  threatened  to  turn  to  snow.  The  room 
was  warm;  Cameron  was  suffocating;  Nellie  was  serenely  unaware. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— WOODS    309 

She  had  eaten  well,  from  her  soup  through  her  cheese.     There  are 
times  when,  to  a  man,  a  woman's  appetite  is  the  last  straw.     She 
was  tired,  she  said,  but  at  her  ease,  and  never  prettier. 
"Going  out  to-night,  Joey?" 

"Yes.  Bridge  hand  around  at  Gordon's.  Want  a  talk  widi 
Gordon  about  a  matter  of  business." 

"I  like  to  have  things  to  do  in  the  afternoon,  but  when  night 
comes"— Nellie  smothered  a  contented  yawn— "I  love  getting  into 
something  comfy,  and  just  buzzing  round  our  own  lamp." 

"I  must  own  that  I  have  never  found  afternoon  diversions  to  be 
diverting."  To  save  him  he  could  not  keep  his  voice  good-natured. 
He  had  had  a  grind  of  a  day,  and  was  dog-tired;  it  seemed  to  him 
she  ought  to  know  it  and  talk  about  it. 

"Yes?"  Nellie  mused.  "It  was  amusing  at  the  club  to-day — the 
Non-descripts."  She  laughed  softly.  "It  wasn't  'nondescript'  to- 
day, though!" 

"Some  old  maid  telling  you  to  bring  your  children  up  on  the 
county,  and  throw  your  husbands  out  of  their  jobs?" 

"What,  Joey?"  Nellie  seemed  to  bring  her  thoughts  back  from 
a  long  way  off.  "Old  maid?  I  should  say  not!  We  had  a  man. 
We  nearly  always  do.  Then  everybody  comes,  and  there's  more 
glow.  He  was  an  English  socialist— I  guess  he  was  a  socialist. 
Burne-Joncs  hair,  and  a  homespun  jacket, — loose,  and  all  that, — 
and  a  heavy  ribbon  on  his  glasses.  He  talked  about  the  new  man." 
"The— what?" 

"The  new  man."  Nellie  opened  her  eyes  wide,  as  if  her  hus- 
band puzzled  her. 

"Well— I'm  damned!" 
Nellie  broke  into  sudden  mirth. 

"You  were,  Joey  dear;  that  is  just  what  you  were.  You  were 
damned  all  the  way  there  and  back  again." 


310     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Cameron  strangled. 

"Have  I  the  honor  to  typify  the — new  creature?" 

"You're  the  very  image  of  him,  Joey  dear."  And  she  smiled 
upon  him  as  if  he  were  some  new  moth,  in  at  their  window,  to  buzz 
round  their  lamp. 

"And — this  person — ?" 

Nellie  became  eagerly  communicative. 

"I  do  wonder  if  I  can  make  you  see  him?  Tall  and  dark,  and 
with  good-looking,  thinnish  hands  and  a  most  amusing  way  of  play- 
ing with  his  eye-glasses.  You  know,  Joey :  the  sort  of  distinguished 
talk-it-all-out  sort  of  man  that  just  makes  men  rage.  Of  course," 
she  went  on,  largely  wise,  "he's  the  sort  of  socialist  to  make  a  real 
socialist  rage,  but  he's  just  the  thing  for  clubs." 

"You  often  have  them?" 

"Of  course,"  she  laughed.  "You  see,  we  don't  see  much  of  men 
at  home  any  more.  It  keeps  us  from  forgetting  how  you  look, 
and  how  amusing  you  may  be." 

Cameron  gazed  before  him  into  a  chaos  without  words. 

Nellie  was  oblivious. 

"He  finished  off  with  a  perfect  bomb,  Joey.  It  was  funny! 
Of  course  the  new  man's  a  city  product,  and  he  drew  him  to  the 
life:  rushed  and  tortured  by  ambition,  tired  out  at  the  end  of  the 
day,  too  tired  to  be  possibly  amusing,  his  nerves  excited  till  any- 
thing quieter  than  lower  Broadway  hurts  his  ears,  all  passion  and 
brilliance  spent  on  business,  dinners  here  and  there,  with  people 
who  all  have  their  ax  to  grind,  too,  and  are  keyed  up  to  it  by  rows 
and  rows  of  cocktails.  He  drew  him  without  mercy,  and  he  had 
every  wife  there  either  wincing  or  laughing,  with  the  truth  of  what 
he  said.  He  was  quite  eloquent."  She  paused,  she  laughed  softly, 
she  turned  her  eyes  upon  him.  "Then,  Joey,  guess — ^just  guess! 
— what  he  said!" 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— WOODS    311 

"Far  be  it  from  me!" 

"He  said  that  any  intelligent  modem  woman  would  require  at 
least  one  husband  and  three  lovers  to  arrive  at  the  standards  and 
companionship  of  one  wholesome  old-fashioned  man!" 

Cameron  got  to  his  feet  and  held  to  the  top  shelf  of  the  book- 
case. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  respectable  women  sit  and  listen 

to  such  talk?" 

"But,  Joey  dear,  you  see  so  little  of  us  respectable  women  now, 
you  don't  really  know  us — " 

"It's  not  decent — " 

Nellie  was  all  patience. 

"But,  you  know,  Joey  dear,  I  tliink  maybe  it  is  true.     Don't  you 

think  so?" 

Cameron  swallowed  two  or  three  retorts;  then  with  a  laugh  that 
seemed  to  break  to  pieces  in  the  air,  he  went  into  the  hall,  got  into 
his  hat  and  coat,  and  left  the  house. 

Nellie  listened  gravely. 

"Poor  dear  old  land-lubber!"  she  sighed.  "But  it  had  to  come 
sooner  or  later!"     Then  she  went  to  the  telephone. 

"57900  Bryant,  please.     May  I  speak  to  Mr.  Crane?" 


u 


W  HEN  Cameron  came  in  at  midnight  he  found  his  wife  and  his 
old    friend    Willoughby    Crane    playing    chess    in    the    dining- 


room. 


"Hello,  Joe,  old  man,"  murmured  Crane.     "That  you?" 
"Why,  yes,  I  believe  it  is  I,"  said  Cameron. 
"Almost  forgot  what  you  looked  like,"  Crane  rambled  pleas- 
antly.    "Dropped  in  for  a  reminder." 


312     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  missed  you,"  muttered  Cameron. 

"Well,  you  haven't  altogether  missed  me,  you  know:  so  cheer 
up,  old  man.  If  Nell's  good  for  a  rubber,  you  may  have  the  joy 
of  my  presence  for  an  hour  or  two  longer.  You're  lucky,  having 
a  wife  who  can  play  chess!" 

"Get  yourself  a  drink,  Joey,"  suggested  Nellie.  "The  whisky's 
in  the  sideboard,  down  on  the  left." 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  know  where  the  whisky  is?"  demanded 
Cameron. 

"Maybe  there's  not  much  left."  Nellie  looked  on,  all  solici- 
tude. 

Cameron,  his  thought  babbling  over  the  good  old  days  of  the 
ducking-stool,  poured  himself  carefully  a  highball  that  was  brown. 
Silence  reigned.  The  light  fell  upon  the  head  and  shoulders  of 
Crane  and  upon  his  long,  quick-lingered  hands. 

"After  a  man  has  slaved  his  soul  out,"  Cameron  moaned,  "these 
are  the  things  a  woman  cares  about!" 

Crane  won  the  rubber,  and  spent  considerable  gallantry  upon 
Nellie  in  compensation.  Cameron  had  yawned  all  tlirough,  but 
no  one  had  noticed.  Crane  lighted  a  cigarette  and  perched  upon 
the  comer  of  the  dining-table. 

"I  say,  Joe,  got  anything  on  to-morrow  night?" 

"I  have,"  said  Cameron. 

"Something  you  can't  chuck?" 

"Scarcely.     A  directors'  dinner." 

Crane  grew  thoughtful. 

"You  certainly  are  a  victim  of  the  power-passion,"  he  sighed, 
considering  Cameron.  "I  don't  know  how  you  stand  it.  I'd  have 
more  money,  no  doubt,  if  I  weren't  so  apathetic,  but,  by  Jinks,  it 
doesn't  look  worth  it  to  me!" 

"A  question  of  taste,"  said  Cameron,  briefly. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— WOODS    313 

"Taste?  If  that  were  all!"  He  smoked,  looking  at  Nellie 
through  the  haze.  "I  say,  Nell,  I've  got  tickets  for  Kreisler  to- 
morrow night.  Come  with  me,  there's  a  good  girl!  Lend  me  your 
wife,  will  you,  Joe?" 

"Lend?"  echoed  Nellie.  "I  like  that!  Anybody'd  take  me  for 
goods  and  chattels.     Of  course  I'll  come.     I'd  love  to." 

"You  know,  Joey,"  Crane  went  on  simply,  "Nellie's  the  only 
woman  I  know  that  it's  real  joy  to  hear  music  with.  She  knows 
what  she's  listening  to.  A  fellow  can  sort  of  forget  that  he's  got 
her  along,  and  still  be  glad  he  has.  As  for  you,  you  old  money- 
hunting  blunderbuss,  the  way  you  squirm  in  the  presence  of  music 
ought  to  be  a  penitentiary  offense.  I'm  almost  glad  you  can't  go." 
He  gave  a  laugh  that  was  dangerously  genuine,  and  bolted  for  the 
hall  to  get  his  coat  and  hat. 

"Poor  old  Joe  is  almost  asleep,"  said  Nellie,  sweetly. 

Joe  did  not  look  it,  but  Willoughby  got  out  solicitously,  and  he 
sat  upon  a  damp  bench  opposite  the  Camerons'  glowing  windows, 
and  he  laughed  and  laughed  till  a  policeman  sternly  ordered  him 
to  move  on. 

"Isn't  Willoughby  a  dear!"  Nellie  commented  as  she  moved 
about,  putting  things  in  their  places  for  the  night.  Cameron 
yawned  obviously.     Nellie  hummed  a  snatch  of  a  tune. 

All  that  long  night  Cameron  lay  stretched  upon  the  edge  of 
their  bed,  staring  into  the  lumpy  darkness.  Nellie  slept  like  a 
baby.  But  once,  soon  after  the  lights  were  turned  off,  Cameron's 
blood  froze  by  inches  from  his  head  to  his  feet.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  Nellie  was  laughing,  was  fairly  biting  her  pillow  to  keep  from 
laughing  aloud!  Gravely,  of  the  darkness,  he  asked  how  all  this 
had  come  about.  He  asked  it  of  the  familiar,  shadowy  heap  of 
Nellie's  clothes  upon  the  chair  by  the  window,  asked  if  he  had 
deserved  it.     Toward  dawn  he  slept. 


314     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY, 

m 

V^AMERON,  after  the  way  of  the  new  man,  kept  some  evening 
clothes  down  town.  It  saved  traveling.  The  next  afternoon, 
about  four  o'clock,  there  came,  somewhere  between  the  pit  of  his 
stomach  and  his  brain,  an  aching  weight.  Conscience!  At  six- 
thirty  he  hung  his  dinner-jacket  back  in  the  closet  and  sent  the 
directors  word  that  he  had  a  headache.  Then,  as  blind  as  a  motli, 
he  started  for  home,  for  that  lamp  about  which  Nellie  "loved  to 
buzz." 

He  let  himself  into  the  apartment,  chuckling  to  think  of  Nellie's 
surprise,  at  just  the  hour  at  which  they  were  used  to  dining.  The 
place  was  shadowy,  the  table  in  its  between-meals  garb.  The  ach- 
ing weight  came  back.     He  tapped  at  the  nursery  door. 

Miss  Merritt,  the  nurse,  was  dining  by  the  nursery  window, 
Billy's  high  chair  drawn  near  by.  Billy,  drowsy  and  rosy,  was 
waving  a  soup-spoon  about  his  head,  dabbing  at  the  lights  upon 
the  silver  with  fat  fingers  that  were  better  at  clinging  than  at  let- 
ting go. 

"Good  evening.  Miss  Merritt,"  said  Cameron.  "Hello,  Bill! 
Where's  your  mother?"  His  tone  struck  false,  for  through  his 
mind  was  booming  the  horrible  question,  "Can  Nellie  have  gone  out 
with  that  ass  Crane  to  dine?" 

Miss  Merritt's  mousy  face  became  all  eyes. 

"Why,  sir,  Mrs.  Cameron  has  gone  out  to  dinner,  and  after  to 
a  concert.     I  guess  you  forgot,  sir." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Cameron,  easily.  "This  is  the  night  of  the  con- 
cert. I  had  absolutely  forgotten.  I'd  have  got  a  bite  down  town 
if  I'd  thought.     Is  the  cook  in?" 

"Sure,  sir.     I'll  call  her." 

She  left  Cameron  alone  with  Billy,  who,  cannibal-wise,  was 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— WOODS    315 

chewing  his  father's  hand  and  crowing  over  the  appetizing  bumps 
and  veins. 

"If  you'd  jest  'ave  'phoned,  sir,"  panted  the  cook,  who  was  a 
large,  purple-faced  person. 

Cameron  sighed. 

"Just  anything,  Katy.  I  have  a  headache.  Some  eggs  and 
toast — poached  eggs,  I  think." 

In  another  moment  the  maid  passed  the  nursery  door,  with  white 
things  over  her  arm,  on  her  way  to  set  the  table. 

Cameron,  dazed  as  never  in  his  life  before,  lifted  Billy  to  his 
shoulder  and  trotted  up  and  down  the  room.  "Nice  little  boy!" 
he  laughed,  Billy's  damp  fists  hitting  at  him  in  ecstasy.  "I'll  just 
take  him  to  the  sitting-room  while  you  finish  your  dinner."  He 
did  his  best  to  pretend  that  the  situation  was  not  unusual,  to  act 
as  if,  in  his  own  home,  a  man  could  be  nothing  but  at  home.  All 
these  confounded  hirelings,  acting  as  if  they  owned  the  place,  had 
the  cheek  to  be  amazed  over  his  dropping  in! 

Miss  Merritt  beamed. 

"I  always  say,  sir,  that  boys  should  know  their  fathers." 

"Boys  should  know  their  fathers?"  This  was  almost  the  last 
straw. 

"Here!"  said  Miss  Merritt,  holding  out  a  pink-edged  blanket. 
"Jest  put  it  on  your  lap,  sir."  There  was  about  her  that  utter  and 
peculiar  lack  of  decorum  that  is  common  to  nurses  and  mothers, 
and  Cameron,  blushing  furiously,  grabbed  the  blanket  and  fled. 

"Boys  should  know  their  fathers,  hey?"  Cameron  was  en- 
raged. "We'll  see  about  that  pretty  quick!"  Billy  crowed  with 
joy  as  the  blanket  flapped  about  them,  and,  above  tlie  chasm  of  his 
doubts  and  his  conscience  Cameron  heard  himself  laugh,  too.  He 
got  into  his  arm-chair.  Billy,  so  warm  and  solid  and  gay,  so 
evidently  liking  him,  gave  him,  parent  that  he  was,  the  tlirill  of 


316     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY. 

adventure  as  his  hands  held  him  and  knew  him  for  his  own.  The 
blanket  spread  upon  his  knees,  the  door  closed,  Cameron  expanded 
with  the  desire  to  know  his  son,  even  as  it  was  desirable  that  his 
son  should  know  him.  He  turned  him  over  and  around,  he  studied 
the  vagaries  of  scallops  and  pearl  buttons;  profoundly  he  pitied  his 
small  image  for  all  of  his  discomforts,  and  advised  him  to  grow 
out  of  safety-pins  as  fast  as  possible.  He  fell  into  a  philosophical 
mood,  spouting  away  at  Bill,  and  Bill  responded  with  fists  and 
delicious  gurgles  and  an  imitative  sense  of  investigation.  Cam- 
eron reflected,  with  illumination,  upon  the  amusing  sounds  a  baby 
makes  when  the  world  is  well.  They  were  really  having  an  aw- 
fully good  time. 

Billy  was  fuzzy  and  blond,  one  of  those  moist,  very  blue-eyed 
babies  that  women  appreciate.  Cameron  all  at  once  saw  why. 
Warmth  expanded  his  aching  heart,  and  his  arms  circled  his  own 
mite  of  boy.  Billy  yawned,  agreed  instantly  with  Cameron  that  a 
yawn  from  a  baby  was  funny,  and  with  a  chuckle  pitched  against 
Cameron,  bumped  his  nose  on  a  waistcoat  button,  considered  the 
button  solemnly,  with  his  small  mouth  stuck  out  ridiculously,  and 
then  snuggled  into  the  hollow  of  his  father's  arms,  and,  closing  his 
big  eyes  with  a  confidence  that  made  thrills  creep  over  him,  the 
man,  and  brought  something  stinging  to  his  eyes,  Bill  went  to 
sleep. 

After  an  unmeasured  lapse  of  time.  Miss  Merritt  came  for  the 
baby.     "Oh,  the  lambkin!     Ain't  he  sweet,  sir?" 

Cameron  ached  in  every  joint,  but  he  did  not  know  it. 

"Take  care  how  you  handle  him!"  he  whispered.  "It's  awful 
to  be  wakened  out  of  one's  first  sleep!" 

"I  know  better  than  to  wake  a  sleepin'  baby,  believe  me,"  said 
Miss  Merritt  with  a  touch  of  spice. 

Tlie  door  closed.     Cameron  sat  stretching  his  stiff  arms  and  legs 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— WOODS    317 

and  staring  before  him,  and  upon  his  usually  tired  and  lined  face 
was  the  beam  of  full  joy. 

Then  came  dinner,  a  lonely,  silent  mockery  of  a  meal.  And 
back  the  question  came,  booming  over  the  soft  tinkling  of  glass  and 
silver.  He  realized,  with  his  salad,  that  four  nights  out  of  seven, 
Nellie  dined  like  this,  alone.  His  lower  lip  protruded,  and  lines 
of  conscience  fell  in  a  curtain  upon  his  face. 

"Mrs.  Cameron  hates  eatin'  'lone,  too,"  said  the  maid.  "She 
generally  eats  early,  so  's  t'  have  Billy  in  his  high  chair  'longside. 
If  he  sleeps,  she  reads  a  book,  sir." 

He  was  alone  in  the  sitting-room  with  his  coffee,  and  the  place 
had  sunk  into  fathomless  silence.  It  was  only  half  after  eight! 
He  stuck  his  head  out  of  the  window.  Soft  flakes  touched  and 
soothed  his  feverish  head.  "Damn  money!"  he  whispered  sud- 
denly, then  stood  back  in  the  room,  startled,  staring  his  blasphemy 
in  the  face.  He'd  go  out  in  the  snow,  and  get  rid  of  himself. 
This  was  awful! 

Bundled  in  a  greatcoat,  collar  high,  trousers  rolled  up,  he  ducked 
out  of  the  great  marble  and  iron  vestibule  into  the  night.  There 
was  no  wind,  and  the  snow  was  falling  softly,  steadily.  The  drive 
was  deserted,  and  he  made  his  way  across  to  the  walk  along  the 
wall.  By  the  light  of  a  lamp,  blurred  by  the  flakes  till  it  looked 
like  a  tall-stemmed  thistle-ball,  he  looked  at  his  watch.  No  mat- 
ter  where  Nellie  had  dined,  she  was  at  the  concert  by  now,  and 
a  great  sigh  of  relief  fluttered  the  flakes  about  his  mouth. 

He  turned  north,  glad  of  the  rise  in  the  ground  to  walk  against. 
"By  jinks!"  he  smiled  grudgingly,  "it's  not  so  bad  out  here.  We 
city  idiots,  we — neiv  men,  with  all  our  motors  and  subways,  we 
are  forgetting  how  to  prowl." 

The  world  fell  oR'  to  shadow  a  little  beyond  the  shore-line,  a 
mere  space  of  air  and  flakes.     Ice  swirled  by  its  way  to  the  sea. 


318     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

for  the  tide  was  going  out.  He  peered;  he  began  to  hear  all  sorts 
of  fine  snow-muffled  sounds;  and  suddenly,  away  out  on  the  river, 
something  was  going  on — boats  whistling  and  signaling,  chatting 
in  their  scientific  persiflage,  out  in  the  dark  and  cold  of  the  night. 
"Lonesome,  too!"  Cameron  laughed,  and,  boyishly,  he  tossed  a 
snow-ball  into  the  space,  as  if  he'd  have  something  to  say  out  there, 
too!  "I'm  soft!"  he  groaned,  clutching  his  ann.  And  suddenly 
he  smiled  to  think  how  one  of  these  days  he  and  Bill  would  come 
out  here  and  play  together.  He  looked  about,  and  a  sudden  pride 
filled  him.  He  was  actually  the  only  creature  enjoying  all  this 
splendid  snow!  He  had  passed  one  old  gentleman  in  a  fur-lined 
coat,  with  a  cap  upon  his  white  hair,  walking  slowly,  a  white  bull- 
dog playing  after  him  in  the  scarcely  trodden  snow. 

Cameron  turned  home,  a  new  and  inexplicable  glow  upon  him, 
cares  dropped  away.  He  marched;  he  laughed  aloud  once  with 
a  sudden  thought  of  Bill.  "Little  corker!"  He  let  himself  in, 
and  went  straight  to  the  bedroom  to  change  his  shoes.  "I  must 
get  some  water-tight  things  to  prowl  in,"  he  thought,  and  he  whis- 
tled a  line  of  "Tipperary."  Blurred  in  a  pleasant  fatigue  he  sat 
on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  staring  at  his  wet  socks,  when  the  telephone 
jingled,  and  he  hurried  out  to  answer. 

"Yep,  this  is  Cameron.  Oh,  hello,  old  girl!  Thought  I'd  just 
come  up  for  a  quiet  home  dinner,  you  know."  A  grin  like  the 
setting  sun  for  warmth  spread  over  his  face  as  he  listened,  as  he 
felt  the  tables  turning  under  his  wet  feet. 

"Nope.  Just  bored  down-town.  Felt  like  bein'  cozy  and — 
buzzin'  round  the  lamp  in  something  comfy.  Fine!  Had  a  regu- 
lar banquet!  Bill's  all  right,  little  devil!  I  tucked  him  in  so  he 
shouldn't  be  lonesome. 

"Me?  I've  been  out  walkin'.  Been  throwin'  snow-balls  at  the 
street-lamps.     My  feet  are  soakin',  but  I  don't  care,  I  don't  care. 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— WOODS     319 

Heard  a  concert  myself,  thanks.  Whistles  and  things  tootin'  out 
in  the  snow  on  the  river  to  beat  the  band !  Don't  think  of  it!  I'm 
fine.  Enjoy  yourself.  What's  life  for?  Good  night,  old  girl. 
Don't  lose  your  key!" 

Cameron  got  as  far  as  the  cedar  chest  in  the  hall,  but  there,  in 
his  wet  socks,  he  sat  down  and  he  laughed  until  he  ached  all  over. 
Suddenly  he  stiffened,  and  his  heels  banged  against  the  chest. 

Miss  Merritt,  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open,  stood  absorbing  him, 
as  crimson  as  was  Cameron  himself. 

"I  heard  the  'phone,"  she  faltered.  "Mrs.  Cameron  always 
calls  up  to  know  if  Billy's  all  right — " 

"I  know  that  she  does,"  said  Cameron,  stiffly,  and,  rising,  he 
stocking-footed  it  past  her  and  shut  himself  in  his  bedroom. 

"Yes,  sir;  good  night,  sir."  Miss  Merritt  stared  at  his  door. 
"Good  Lord!"  she  whispered  in  the  nursery,  "how  awful  for  Billy 
and  her  if  he  takes  to  drink!" 

Nellie  came  out  of  the  telephone  booth,  her  face  white  with 
horror.     "Willoughby,"  she  gasped,  "get  me  a  taxi  quick!" 

"Billy—" 

"No,  no,  no!     It's  Joe!" 

"What—" 

"Oh,"  she  wailed,  "I've  gone  too  far!     Joe  is — drunk!" 

Willoughby's  face  went  to  pieces. 

"Don't  look  like  that,  Nell!  Don't!  What  of  it?  Just  what 
we've  been  up  to,  isn't  it?" 

"How  can  you  say  that?     Get  my  wraps.     I  am  going  home." 

"Your  car  isn't  ordered  till  eleven — " 

"What  do  I  care  what  I  go  in?     Oh,  I  have  been  such  a  fool!" 

"Don't  mention  it,"  grinned  Crane  as  he  wrapped  her  coat  about 
her. 

Gaily  Crane  waved  his  white-gloved  hand  to  her,  her  face  gleam- 


320     DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ing  back  pearl-like  for  an  instant  in  the  shadowy  taxi;  then  she  was 
whirled  northward  and  lost  in  the  snowy  night.  Back  in  his  place, 
next  to  Nellie's  empty  chair,  he  mused  tenderly  over  the  vagaries  of 
a  mere  bachelor  till  the  incomparable  Austrian  carried  his  mind  off 
to  where  tone  is  reality,  where  there  is  neither  marriage  nor  giving 
in  marriage. 

Nellie  fitted  the  key  into  the  lock.  Her  fingers  shook.  The 
apartment  was  dark  except  for  a  light  in  the  hall,  and  as  still  as 
if  it  were  empty.  If  only  Joe  would  stay  asleep  till  he'd  had  time 
to  sleep  this  horrible  state  of  affairs  away! 

She  switched  off  the  light  and  carefully  let  herself  into  their 
room,  and  stood  a  moment,  huddled,  breathless,  against  the  door. 
The  room  was  ghostly.  The  vague,  snow-veiled  light  filtered  in 
from  the  street-lamp  below,  making  of  Cameron  an  incoherent 
lump,  wrapped  to  his  eyes  in  the  covers  of  their  chintz-hung  bed. 

Her  hands  clasped  tight,  she  peered  at  him  through  the  shadows. 
He  did  not  move.  He  was  sleeping  heavily,  curiously,  irregularly, 
his  breath  coming  in  jerky  little  snorts.  "Oh,"  she  wailed  in  her 
guilty  heart,  "he  is,  he  is!  Poor  dear  old  Joey,  drunk!  And  it's 
all,  all  my  fault!"  Swiftly  she  undressed  in  the  dark.  If  he  were 
to  awaken,  to  begin  saying  awful  maudlin  things — 

Her  heart  pounding,  she  lifted  the  covers  and  crept  into  martyr- 
dom on  the  hard  edge  of  the  bed.  Cameron  slept  on.  Once  he 
seemed  to  be  strangling  in  a  bad  dream,  and  she  fought  with  her 
sense  of  duty  to  awaken  him,  then,  miserably,  let  him  strangle! 

Gravely  Nellie's  tired  eyes  traveled  from  familiar  shadow  to 
shadow,  to  rest  at  last  upon  the  dangling  heap  of  clothes  upon  a 
chair  by  the  window  that  symbolized  Joe  Cameron  by  the  sane 
light  of  day.  Fatigue  tossed  her  off  to  sleep  now  and  then;  terror 
snatched  her  back  and  made  her  cry.     In  the  first  faint  dawn  she 


VNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— WOODS    321 

awakened  with  a  start  to  find  that  in  her  sleep  her  tired  body  had 
slipped  back  to  its  place,  and  her  head  was  resting  deliciously  upon 
her  pillow.  And,  with  the  growing  dawn,  humor  came  creeping 
back,  and  try  as  she  would,  her  moudi  twitched.  Of  all  people, 
dear  old  Joey!  Carefully  she  turned  her  head  and  peered  at  him. 
His  face  was  turned  toward  her,  what  light  there  was  fell  full 
upon  him.  Wonder  took  away  her  smile.  His  face  was  fresh, 
the  lines  of  care  and  worry  softened  away  as  if  he  were  at  the  end 
of  a  two  weeks'  vacation.  She  rested  her  chin  on  her  arm,  amazed, 
puzzled.  And  suddenly  a  grin  like  the  sunrise  spread  over  Joe's 
face,  and  he  opened  his  eyes. 

By  courtesy  of  The  Century. 


322  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 

TO  THOSE  WHO  GO 

IN  a  sense  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  American  soldiers  who 
go  to  France  are  modem  crusaders.  Like  the  valiant  men  of 
the  Middle  Ages  who  traveled  far  to  fight  in  strange  lands  for  the 
ideal  that  possessed  their  souls,  these  twentieth-century  knights- 
errant  go  to  defend  the  ideals  of  liberty  and  right  and  honor  which 
are  the  issues  of  this  war  and  which  our  Allies  have  successfully 
upheld  for  more  than  three  years. 

In  that  chivalric  spirit  General  Pershing  stood  at  the  tomb  of 
LaFayette  and  said,  "LaFayette,  we  are  here."  As  a  young  man 
only  twenty  years  old  LaFayette  went  out  to  a  new  land  to  fight 
for  liberty,  and  now  after  nearly  a  century  and  a  half  the  same 
inspiration  that  sent  him  forth  is  taking  our  young  men  back  to 
fight  in  the  land  of  his  birth  the  old  fight  for  right.  The  great 
romance  of  international  history  which  the  relations  of  France  and 
America  have  afforded  from  the  birth  of  tliis  republic  has  entered 
on  a  new  chapter  with  the  pilgrimage  of  our  fighting  men  to  Eu- 
rope, and  the  inestimable  service  of  LaFayette  and  his  comrades 
to  our  infant  republic  is  now  to  be  in  part  repaid  by  the  nation 
that  France  helped  to  establish. 

But  though  it  is  a  chivalric  mission  on  which  our  soldiers  go, 
they  should  not  enter  France  in  the  attitude  of  saviors.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  the  United  States  came  very  late  into  this 
war,  and  while  our  troops  and  even  more  our  money  and  material 
resources  may  have  decisive  weight  toward  victory,  yet  it  is  France, 
England,  Italy,  Russia  against  whom  the  enemy  has  spent  his 
strength.  Our  Allies  have  brought  the  war  already  to  its  turning 
point,  and  we  can  at  best  only  add  completeness  to  their  achieve- 
ment.    Furthermore,  while  we  aid  France  and  her  Allies,  we  are 


UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA— HERRICK    323 

defending  ourselves  also.  We  went  to  war  because  Germany  was 
killing  our  citizens,  was  plotting  against  the  peace  and  security  of 
our  nation,  because  her  restless  ambition  and  lust  for  power  were 
choking  not  only  Europe  but  the  world. 

Our  American  soldiers  will  find  in  France  a  people  who  have 
endured  with  wonderful  courage  and  devotion  dirough  more  than 
three  years  of  terrific  strain  against  odds  which  must  often  have 
seemed  hopeless.  The  French  are  the  heroes  of  this  war.  They 
have  been  in  the  fight  from  the  beginning  and  will  be  there  until 
the  end.  Tlieir  armies  were  fully  engaged  when  England  had  not 
a  hundred  thousand  men  under  arms  and  Italy  was  a  neutral ;  they 
fought  on  when  Russia  lost  her  grip;  and  they  will  not  quit  until 
their  land  is  cleared  of  invaders  and  the  Prussian  shadow  that  has 
darkened  France  for  more  than  forty  years  is  lifted.  More  than 
any  other  country  except  Belgium,  France  has  feU  the  horror  and 
hardships  of  the  war  which  we  are  spared  because  she  has  paid 
the  price  of  our  protection. 

American  soldiers  who  go  to  France  are  to  be  envied  because 
they  are  getting  what  comes  to  few  men, — opportunity  to  be  of 
direct,  vital  service  to  the  country.  To  be  young,  to  be  fit,  to  have 
a  part  however  small  in  the  great  events  that  are  making  the  world 
over  into  a  safer  and  happier  place  for  our  children  to  live  in,  is 
something  for  a  man  to  be  proud  of  now  and  to  remember  with 
satisfaction  to  his  last  day. 

The  war  may  last  much  longer  than  we  now  anticipate,  but  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  tlie  ultimate  victory  of  the  cause  to  which  we  are 
committed.  The  world  never  turns  back,  it  moves  always  forward, 
always  upward.  Our  soldiers  may  go  out,  as  the  Crusaders  went 
of  old,  with  absolute  faith  that  their  service  will  not  be  given  in 
vain,  that  their  effort  and  daring  will  not  be  unavailing. 


324  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY 


THE  HERO'S  PEACE 

1  HERE  is  a  peace  that  springs  where  battles  thunder. 
Unknown  to  those  who  walk  the  ways  of  peace 
Drowsy  with  safety,  praising  soft  release 
From  pain  and  strife  and  the  discomfortable  wonder 
Of  life  lived  vehemently  to  its  last,  wild  flame: 
This  peace  thinks  not  of  safety,  is  not  bound 
To  the  wincing  flesh,  nor  to  the  piteous  round 
Of  human  hopes  and  memories,  nor  to  Fame. 

Immutable  and  immortal  it  is  bom 

Within  the  spirit  that  has  looked  on  fear 
Till  fear  has  looked  askance ;  on  death  has  gazed 
As  on  an  equal,  and  with  noble  scorn, 
Spuming  the  self  that  held  the  self  too  dear, 

To  the  height  of  being  mounts  calm  and  imaraazed. 

Castle  Hill,  Virginia 


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